Aftermath
by j3of25
Summary: Steve is involved in a fatal shooting and blamed for what went wrong.The others must piece together the truth but this may put their lives in danger STORY COMPLETE! EPILOGUE ADDED
1. Default Chapter

AFTERMATH:- A Diagnosis Murder Story.  
  
Disclaimer:- This story is written for pleasure not profit. The background and characters of Dr. Mark Sloan, Lt. Steve Sloan, Dr. Jesse Travis, Dr. Amanda Bentley and Captain Newman belong to someone else. All other characters and the plot are my own.  
  
Author's note:- Once again my brain/muse/whatever began writing this story before I had even finished the last one, so blame it/them and not me for all of the angst involved. I did however persuade it/them to let me finish the last one before actually starting to put this into cyberspace. There is less intrigue involved but hopefully just as much action. As usual Steve and Jesse will be getting themselves into lots of trouble.  
  
Synopsis:-Steve is involved in a fatal shooting incident and blamed for what went wrong. It's up to the others to piece together what really happened and help Steve to come to terms with the event. As Steve begins to recover, he and Jesse are plunged into a life or death fight.  
  
Warning:- this is rated PG 13 for violence. The first chapter is not pretty, don't say I didn't warn you.  
  
Part 1: Massacre  
  
Mark pulled up as near as he could to the parking lot leaving his convertible illegally parked at the end of a growing column of media vans. He rushed towards the police cordon where reporters, armed with microphones, were questioning the officers whose job was to keep them out, badgering for the merest scrap of information, as their cameramen jockeyed for position with those taking stills, but the officers, who had done this a thousand times, just watched them impassively, unable to give out information even if they had it.  
  
Mark pushed his way through the melee ignoring the comments as he shoved past and not even feeling the knocks from elbows and shoulders. He got to the front and gave his name. "Dr. Mark Sloan," he said urgently. "Captain Newman called me."  
  
"I'm sorry Doc," the officer said apologetically, "I'll still need to see some ID"  
  
Mark was frustrated by the delay but nonetheless reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. The action was redundant however as at that moment a voice shouted, "Dr. Sloan,"  
  
He and the two officers turned to see Captain Newman approaching. "Let him through," he said and Mark instantly had the cordon lifted for him.  
  
Seeing the police Captain sent the waiting Media into what resembled a feeding frenzy as they all attempted to get the his attention and get him to answer some of their questions.  
  
Newman turned to them and issued a standard reply. "I have no comment at this time. We are still investigating the incident. You will be kept informed when we have something to tell you."  
  
Mark was level with him by this point and the captain put his arm around the older man's shoulders and led him away from the press and towards the building.  
  
"Thanks for coming," Newman said, "It's a real nightmare in there and we weren't sure what to do, the EMT's are pretty stretched."  
  
Mark felt like he was walking through another world. He was listening to Newman but his voice seemed a long way off. He took in the details of his surroundings in the eerie pulsating red and blue lights of a dozen police vehicles. He noted the four ambulances and the coroners vehicles and the myriad of people moving back and forth purposefully across the crowded lot. He spotted Steve's truck and his heart skipped a beat. Then he was past it and approaching the white fronted building where he noticed at least three officers losing their dinner into the gutters and bushes skirting along the sides.  
  
He braced himself, knowing that this was going to be bad. In his years as a doctor and a consultant for the police department he had seen his fair share of grisly scenes but that didn't make facing death on a large scale any easier and knowing that Steve was somehow involved...  
  
The call from Captain Newman had come less than fifteen minutes earlier and Mark had felt as though his heart had leapt into his throat as soon as he heard Newman's voice. There was something about the tone that told him that the call was about Steve and it wasn't good.  
  
"There's been a shooting incident, large number of casualties," Newman said, "Steve's not seriously hurt," he continued hastily, attempting to be reassuring, although those first few words had sent Mark's mind reeling. "But we could do with you coming down here. We may need your help."  
  
Newman had then given him the address without any further explanation. The building in question was a private practice less than ten minutes up PCH from the Beach house. Both Mark and Steve passed it every day on their way to and from work. Without pausing Mark had grabbed his keys and headed for his car.  
  
He had made the drive in a dazed and slightly panicked state, wondering how his son was involved. He replayed the Captain's words 'Steve's not seriously hurt' but he didn't say 'not hurt at all,' just not seriously.  
  
Now he stood and gazed at the building wondering what he was about to face, the fear for his son's safety predominant in his mind.  
  
Captain Newman's voice pulled him out of his pondering and he turned to face him. "There are twelve dead and four who are still clinging to life." He stared into Mark's concerned eyes. "It looks like Steve was in there when it happened but he won't let anyone get close enough to him to check him out." He paused briefly, "I figured that since you were so near..."  
  
"Thank you," Mark replied, "I'll do what I can," and he turned to head into the building.  
  
"Mark," Newman grabbed his arm, stopping his movement and turning him to meet his gaze again. "It's pretty gruesome in there."  
  
Mark nodded in acknowledgment of the warning and as Newman returned to coordinating his officers, he entered the building.  
  
The first thing that hit him was the smell, working in a hospital he was used to the smell of blood but rarely did it get to such overpowering levels. That, and the lingering smell of cordite in the air, reminded him more of a battleground than a clinic in Malibu.  
  
Then he saw the bodies. Most of them were still uncovered being photographed and checked before the coroners teams moved them away. Each lay in a pool of their own blood except where they were close enough for the fluid to have run together. There were two smeared patches where the bodies had been removed. Probably by the EMT's.  
  
In two different places EMT crews worked frantically to try to stabilize the only other two victims who remained alive so that they could be transported. There was an on scene doctor working with one of them.  
  
As Mark looked around he realised that there was no urgency to do anything with the other victims. They were all beyond help. Mark felt the bile rise in his throat, fought back the nausea which still came, no matter how often you saw something like this, and tried to remain professional, but for the briefest of moments all he could see was the despair and futility of it all. So many innocent lives lost without reason.  
  
He gazed around the room again, on his first sweep his eyes had been drawn downwards but now, he looked for Steve. It took him a third sweep before he realised that the stooped and huddled figure leaning against the far wall was actually his son.  
  
"Steve," he whispered to himself barely able to acknowledge that the pathetic figure he saw opposite was actually his tall strong son. Then he remembered Captain Newman's words 'We think he was in there when it happened' and he glanced around once more. To see this terrible sight now was bad enough. To have been here when these people screamed and died was too horrific to contemplate, and if Steve had witnessed that... "Oh Steve," he whispered again compassionately and he began to pick his way across the blood strewn floor to Steve's position.  
  
He was barely halfway across when he heard one of the paramedics working to his left curse. "Dammit we're losing her," he said before shouting across to the doctor at the other side of the room. "Doc we need your help here or she's not going to make it."  
  
Mark looked across, but the young doctor was involved in a life or death struggle of his own. Mark glanced at Steve momentarily, regret in his eyes, but Steve did not appear to be in any immediate danger. He was still standing under his own power, albeit leaning against the wall. Mark had no choice, he turned away from his son and moved in to help. "I'm a doctor," he said as he approached. "What have you got?"  
  
As Mark retrieved a pair of gloves and pulled them on the young paramedic gratefully explained the girl's condition to the old doctor. Mark looked at her. She couldn't be more than twenty and she had three gunshot wounds. Two to the chest and one to her left arm. He made a hurried assessment and set to work to try to save her life, repressing his concerns for his son as he focused on the task at hand.  
  
Mark worked for the next fifteen minutes until he was happy for them to move the girl. The EMT's had made the right decision, if they had moved her without treatment Mark was in no doubt that she would have bled to death in the ambulance. Now at least she had a fighting chance.  
  
He remained kneeling on the floor whilst they wheeled her away on a gurney, allowing his racing pulse to settle as the adrenaline his body had pushed out to help him deal with the life or death situation gradually dissipated. He felt a gentle touch on his arm.  
  
"Mark?" a familiar voice questioned.  
  
He looked up into the tear filled eyes of Dr. Amanda Bentley and pushed himself to his feet.  
  
"They paged me about Twenty minutes ago," she said explaining her presence. She was there in her official capacity as medical examiner. She couldn't help looking round as she spoke. "I've seen a lot since I took this job on but I think this is the worse crime scene so far." She looked back at Mark "Two of them are children," she said quietly.  
  
Mark squeezed her arm knowing that her reaction was the same as his. It wasn't the bodies or the spectacle of death, they were both used to dealing with that. It was the scale of it, the pointless loss of so many lives, most of them young.  
  
"Did they call you in too?" Amanda asked. It wasn't so unusual to see Mark at a crime scene but he usually turned up after her and frequently in the company of his son, and she had known that Mark had left work early because he had promised to cook an early dinner so that he and Steve could go to a movie that they had been trying to catch. Their work schedules had meant that they hadn't seen a lot of each other recently, so they had planned to spend a little quality time together.  
  
Mark looked at her. "No, not exactly," his eyes were already scanning the room. "It's Steve," he said quietly, "he was here when it happened."  
  
"Oh my God," Amanda exclaimed, "Is he all right?"  
  
Mark's gaze had stopped moving and he began to walk toward a figure huddled against the wall. "I'm about to find out." he said.  
  
Amanda looked in the direction he had headed and was startled by Steve's appearance. He had a blanket draped over his shoulders and his arms were crossed in front of him gripping it tightly as he hunched down leaning against the wall.  
  
As Mark approached his son his concern and anxiety deepened. Steve did not appear to have moved since Mark had first spotted him. He was staring into space, his eyes fixed and glassy, his knuckles were white where he gripped the blanket as though it were some sort of lifeline. His skin was extremely pale and he had a thin sheen of sweat covering his face, despite the fact that he was shivering.  
  
"Steve," he said gently, reaching out his hand to touch Steve's arm.  
  
Steve's reaction was swift and shocking. He jerked back from the touch as though he had been burned. "No, stay away, " he mumbled barely coherently.  
  
Mark was bewildered by the response but he persevered. "Steve," he said, slightly more firmly. This time not risking the touch. "Steve, it's me. It's your dad. Can you hear me?" He paused studying his son's panicked features for a sign that he was getting through. "Steve, I'm here to help you."  
  
Steve's eyes were still defocused. Unable to cope with the thoughts and emotions assaulting it the conscious part of his brain had retreated within itself and did not want to return to face the distress and confusion, but even as he fought it, the urgent familiar tones began to penetrate.  
  
"Steve," Mark repeated, "Can you hear me? I'm here to help you."  
  
Steve blinked and turned to look into his father's eyes as his own slowly refocused on the world.  
  
Mark held his gaze briefly, more frightened than he would care to admit by the look of abject despair that crossed his son's features. His eyes held none of the intelligence and sparkle that he was used to instead they were hollow, empty, even as he focused them on his father's face.  
  
"Dad," he whispered softly. Then his panic returned. "No," he said backing away but hitting the wall so he could go no further. "You can't help me." He said his eyes darting about wildly. "I don't deserve.... Please you shouldn't.... I can't.." Each phrase was accompanied by increasing agitation as Steve once again fought to order his thoughts into some semblance of coherence.  
  
Mark instinctively stepped forward. "Steve, It's all right," he said keeping his tone calm and even despite his own rising panic at his son's irrational behaviour. "Come on son," he tried encouragingly. "Let me help you."  
  
"No," he repeated, finally managing some semblance of lucidity. "You don't understand. You can't help me."  
  
Mark was aware that his son was still not making sense. He had to find some way to reach him. He did not want Steve to have to suffer the ignominy of being restrained or sedated but if he could not calm him down then he would have to. "Steve, you have to listen to me. I need you to calm down."  
  
Steve leant his head back against the wall fighting for some sort of emotional control that would not come. He looked once again into his father's eyes. "It's all my fault, dad," he whispered fighting back the tears. He looked down at the ground. "I killed them all." There was a brief pause as a sob caught in his throat. "It's all my fault." He repeated a chilling hopelessness in his tone.  
  
Mark stepped forward needing to do something to comfort his son but unable to decide what. Wary of touching him again in case the previous response was repeated.  
  
"I.." Steve started to speak again but his system was in no condition to deal with the strain he was placing it under and he pitched forward as a swirling darkness engulfed him.  
  
Mark caught him but was unable to counter the downward action as Steve's weight pulled him toward the ground, instead he went with him, lowering him gently until he lay unconscious on his back.  
  
Mark gasped in shock as the blanket fell away to reveal four large ragged holes running across Steve's chest, torn into the kevlar vest that he was wearing where the bullets had penetrated. Running freely down his right arm was the unmistakable bright red stain of blood that had already soaked his sleeve and turned the side of the vest from a deep navy to black.  
  
Amanda gasped too as she knelt down at the other side of her friend.  
  
Mark looked up the anguish clear in his eyes. "Get another Ambulance here." He shouted to the nearest officer. "Now!" 


	2. Media

Part 2 Media.  
  
Mark ripped Steve's shirt sleeve open to check what he was dealing with whilst Amanda checked his pulse. The bullet had torn through the fleshy part of his upper arm going straight through. Steve's tight grip on the blanket had helped keep some pressure on the wound and had slowed the bleeding but had been insufficient to stop it. Mark pulled off his jacket and wadded it up before wrapping it around the arm and holding it firmly in place.  
  
"Where are those paramedics," Mark shouted frantically, frustrated by his inability to apply a proper dressing. He looked across into Amanda's eyes. "He's going into shock," he said desperately.  
  
She held eye contact and nodded back, "Yes," she said quietly, beginning to loosen the ties that held the flak jacket in place, hoping to ease Steve's breathing a little.  
  
"No," Mark put his hand on hers stopping the action. She looked up surprised. "If the bullets went through the vest it will be stopping the bleeding," he explained.  
  
Amanda nodded and like Mark began checking around for the paramedics, drumming her fingers impatiently on the floor. She looked down at Steve's skin which was becoming paler by the minute, his breathing rapid and shallow.  
  
Mark spotted the EMT's first and muttered a 'Thank God," under his breath as he and Amanda both shifted position to allow them to get in with their equipment. Mark gave rapid instructions which the young man and woman followed as they attempted to stabilise Steve's condition.  
  
An IV line was inserted to replace the fluids Steve had lost and bring his dangerously low blood pressure back up and an oxygen mask placed over his mouth and nose to help ease his breathing before the young woman placed a field dressing over the wound in Steve's arm.  
  
Meanwhile her partner began to cut away the vest so that they could see what damage had been done by the bullets that had hit it. He gasped as he pulled the material back and let out a low whistle. "Damn those must have been fired at point blank range," he said, "To have gone through like that."  
  
Mark looked over to see what he was talking about. Two of the bullets had penetrated through the material of the vest. One of them causing a surface gash. The other had penetrated deeper. The inside of the vest was soaked with blood. Looking at the damage Mark was surprised that Steve had remained standing as long as he had. Without wasting any time the paramedic placed a pressure bandage over the wounds. "Let's get him out of here," the young man said pulling the wheeled stretcher closer.  
  
Mark followed in a slightly dazed state, Amanda gripping his arm as they trailed the thankfully efficient EMTs to the Ambulance.  
  
As they exited the building Mark suddenly became aware of the light and noise around him, as though someone had removed padding from his eyes and ears. Two helicopters were circling overhead with powerful searchlights illuminating part of the ground. The noise from them mingled with the low hum of the crowd by the cordon and shouts as the officers moved around the site. The eerie blue and red lighting, which still came from the flashing lights of the patrol cars, mingled with flashes from camera bulbs and the arc lights of film crews, making the whole experience seem surreal.  
  
Mark paused before climbing into the ambulance to turn and look into Amanda's eyes. There was no need to say anything they had known each other too long. A wealth of compassion and concern passed between them in a short glance. She squeezed his hand gently, letting go as he turned and climbed in next to his son.  
  
As the Ambulance pulled away Amanda felt a gentle touch on her arm and turned to see Captain Newman. "How is he?" he asked nodding to the departing vehicle.  
  
"He took more than one hit." Amanda replied distractedly. "and he's in a deep state of shock." As the ambulance moved out of sight she turned to look at the police Captain. "It's a good job he was wearing a vest or he..." She stopped, unable to finish the sentence as she remembered the pattern of four ragged holes across Steve's chest. Her mind was drawn inevitably back to the time when Steve had not been so fortunate. On that occasion four bullets from a hired killer had struck him in the chest and abdomen with nothing to block them, and he had nearly died, his life hanging in the balance for days.  
  
"Dr. Bentley," Newman said concerned as Amanda seemed to drift off.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said shaking her head slightly to clear the painful memories. She fixed the police Captain with a soft stare from her deep brown eyes. "Do we have any idea what happened."  
  
The Captain shook his head. "That's what we're trying to piece together now but Lt. Sloan was the only officer at the scene when it went down." He glanced back at the building. "It was pretty much as you see it now by the time anyone else got here." He returned his gaze to Amanda. "So until he can tell us what happened I guess it's up to us to piece it together."  
  
Amanda sighed heavily, steeling herself to return through the doors into the building and the carnage beyond. "Then I guess that I'd better get back to work."  
  
"Let me know as soon as you have anything." Newman said as she moved inside.  
  
  
  
Jesse was waiting as the gurney was wheeled into the ER. He had already dealt with two of the four victims who had been brought in and they had been passed on to the OR. He had been told to expect another patient with gun shot wounds, but not who it was.  
  
"Oh my God Steve!" he exclaimed as he saw his friend lying pale and bloody in front of him. He was momentarily overcome by a wave of anguish as he had visions of Steve in a similar condition to those he had already treated. All too painful memories of Steve arriving close to death once before flooded his mind. "God not again," he whispered and then, as Mark had earlier, he repressed his emotions and became professional, listening to the paramedics detail what was actually wrong.  
  
The relief he felt when he realised that Steve had been wearing a vest was immense. At least that gave him a considerable advantage over the other casualties, even so his condition was serious and he quickly had his friend transferred to a trauma room.  
  
He was about to follow when he glanced up and saw Mark, having followed his son so far, he had come to a stand still in the hallway, knowing that if he went further he would only be in the way. He needed to hand over to Jesse and let him do his job.  
  
What Mark knew however, and what he felt were entirely different. He did not want to leave his son's side, did not want to feel so frustrated and helpless as he once more waited for someone to tell him that his injured son was going to be all right, and so he stood, the distress clear in his expression, momentarily shut off from the world.  
  
Jesse knew that he had to get to work on Steve but he could not leave his mentor and friend looking so shell shocked and lost in front of him. He moved over so that he could touch Mark on the arm. "I'll look after him," he said reassuringly. "Go and sit down, I'll let you know how he is as soon as I can."  
  
Mark looked trustingly into the young doctor's eyes. "I know you will, Jess " he replied before stumbling off in the direction of the doctor's lounge.  
  
Jesse briefly regretted the fact that he could not do more for his friend, but quickly dismissed that thought as he realised that helping Steve was almost certainly the best thing that he could do for Mark and he hurried into Trauma 2  
  
Jesse checked the chest wounds first and looked in horror at the two nasty gashes where the bullets had cut through the material of the vest and had penetrated the surface of the skin. The other two bullets had left ugly purple bruises where they had impacted.  
  
During his time as an ER doctor, Jesse had seen many such impact wounds and, if they had done this much damage through a vest, then whoever had shot Steve had been close. Without the jacket, Jesse was in no doubt that his friend would not have survived.  
  
  
  
For Mark it was an agonising wait. It was always an agonising wait. He knew that his son was strong, relied upon that in his darkest hours to keep him going, but how much longer could Steve's luck hold out? How much punishment could his body take before it was too much?  
  
Mark sat staring at the table in front of him without seeing it. Instead he replayed the events of the last hour in his mind. Trying to make sense of the circumstances that had led him here, berating himself for not checking on his son sooner. Even though he had had no way of knowing how badly Steve was injured, and he was certain that the young woman would have died if he had not helped her, he still could not avoid feeling guilty about leaving his son in such distress for so long.  
  
That thought triggered an even more harrowing memory as he saw once again his son's hollow empty eyes and heard the panic and ultimately the hopelessness in his son's voice. Whatever had happened in that room Steve held himself responsible for it. To have been part of such a massacre and to have survived it was trauma enough, to believe oneself culpable for it, seemed beyond emotional endurance.  
  
The more Mark thought about it the more he was sure that helping Steve recover from any physical injuries was going to be a minor task compared to helping him deal with the psychological scars that tonight's events would leave. In all his nightmares he could not have come up with a more unbearable situation for his son.  
  
Yet, even as he drifted into despair himself a small part of his mind was arguing against giving up. Whatever Steve believed, deep down Mark knew that his son was simply incapable of deliberately hurting innocent people. There had to be some logical explanation for what had happened.  
  
As Mark sat and waited, however, this small voice of reason was lost beneath the weight of negative emotion as the concerns he had for his son tore at his heart. When Jesse finally entered to give him news on Steve's condition, Mark did not even notice that he was there until he was sitting next to him, his hand resting on his shoulder.  
  
"Mark," Jesse said gently, concerned at the older man's haggard appearance. He had been watching since entering the room as Mark stared blankly at the blood covered jacket he was continually winding and unwinding agitatedly with his hands. Having placed one hand reassuringly on his friend's shoulder, he reached down and placed the other over the old doctor's, effectively stopping the movement.  
  
Mark looked up and offered a half-hearted attempt at smiling.  
  
Jesse smiled back. "He's going to be fine Mark," he began reassuringly. "The wound to his arm should heal up without any problems and thankfully the vest took all of the speed out of the bullets that hit his chest. The worst just did some soft tissue damage, glancing off his sternum. One of the other bullets also cracked a rib but, apart from the discomfort whilst the wounds heal, he was very lucky." Jesse watched Mark's reaction carefully and was surprised that the old doctor was not more relieved.  
  
"Thanks Jess," Mark replied distractedly.  
  
Jesse let go with both hands and leaned back on the chair, trying to figure out the reason for his colleagues continuing distress in the light of his positive prognosis. He was alarmed to see that once his hand was removed. Mark returned to the agitated twisting and untwisting of the jacket.  
  
"Hey," he said softly, "It's OK I think it surrenders."  
  
Mark looked up at the strange comment and followed the direction Jesse was pointing, down to the mangled garment in his hands. He stopped the twisting and stared at it. "I, er used this to cover the wound before the EMTs arrived," he said hesitantly explaining the blood stains. "Guess it's ruined." He added as part of his brain latched on to saying something ordinary, a brief respite from the emotional onslaught.  
  
"I guess so," Jesse replied, more worried than ever about Mark's mental state, "So what's wrong?" He asked bluntly.  
  
Mark looked up at his young friend and colleague and let out a deep sigh. "I think Steve's problems may just be beginning." He replied and began to explain what he had seen and what Steve had said.  
  
  
  
It took Amanda almost two hours before she could return to the hospital and even then not all of the bodies were ready to be removed, as every minute detail of the room in which the massacre had occurred was photographed and catalogued.  
  
All of the victims bar three seemed to have been killed by a spray of automatic weapons fire probably from a machine pistol. The bullets had hit at around chest height and most victims had taken three or more hits. It was fairly consistent with the injuries that she had seen on Steve and consistent with the bullet pattern on the wall. It looked like the gun had been set to automatic and used to spray the room, mowing down everyone in it's path. Two of the other victims had died from gunshot wounds to the head. A single bullet each had been sufficient to kill them, possibly they had been kneeling or attempting to duck at the time.  
  
The final victim, if he could be called that, still held a machine pistol in his hand. He had been hit twice in the chest by a smaller caliber weapon.  
  
Amanda was about to leave when Captain Newman caught up with her again. "Well doctor, what do you think?" He asked.  
  
Amanda knew that she wasn't being asked for a report, not yet, just an opinion. "Looks like the guy there swept the room with his machine pistol, killing everything that moved," she replied "and then Steve..Lieutenant Sloan," she corrected herself, " shot him."  
  
The Captain nodded sagely. "That's how it looked to me too," he sighed "Trouble is that leaves a lot of unanswered questions."  
  
"Such as?" Amanda asked sensing that Newman wanted to share some of the mental burden he was obviously carrying.  
  
"We received a silent alarm from this place at around 6 and the lieutenant responded. Seems he was virtually on top of the place when the call went out. He called in to say that he was checking the place out.?" Newman paused.  
  
"So what's the question?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Why would an officer with more than twenty years experience on the force walk into a dangerous situation without waiting for backup?"  
  
"Maybe he had no choice, maybe the guy spotted him." Amanda suggested.  
  
"In which case, if I know Sloan, he would have done everything the perp told him to avoid anyone getting hurt and yet, less than five minutes later, nearly everyone is dead. So what pushed the guy over the edge? What made him shoot everyone?" The Captain asked frustrated, then he fixed Amanda with his gaze "The whole thing makes no sense unless we assume that Steve tried to stop him alone and failed and if that is true I ask again, why the Hell didn't he wait for backup?"  
  
Amanda shook her head, for that she did not have an answer.  
  
  
  
Mark sat in Steve's room next to his bed watching and waiting, for once he was not willing Steve to wake up. He knew that whilst his son slept he was spared the agony of emotions that he would face when he returned to consciousness.  
  
He thought back to his conversation with Jesse, remembered how the young doctor's complexion had paled as he described the scene at the clinic that Steve had been part of. He had remained quiet and pensive as he had detailed Steve's words and actions, knowing as Mark did, that this meant that Steve had burdened himself with the guilt of responsibility for the carnage that he had witnessed.  
  
Long after Mark had finished speaking, Jesse had sat silently considering the implications for his friend before finally making eye contact with Mark and asking in hushed almost reverent tones. "How's he gonna live with something like that?"  
  
Mark had shook his head. "I don't know Jess," he paused, "I just don't know."  
  
If Jesse hadn't been paged at that point, Mark mused, he wasn't sure that they still wouldn't both have been seated in the doctor's lounge staring silently into space.  
  
After Jesse had left Mark had waited until one of the nurses had come to tell him which room Steve was in and he had been sitting here ever since, watching his son rest peacefully.  
  
  
  
Jesse was about to go up to Steve's room and check on both him and Mark when Someone called out to him. "Dr. Travis!" He turned to see his friend and colleague Dr. Bill Taylor.  
  
He smiled. "Dr. Taylor, What can I do for you?"  
  
Dr. Taylor did not return the smile. "There's something I think you ought to see," he said seriously and without further explanation he hurried back down the corridor.  
  
Jesse followed him, somewhat bemused, into the nurses lounge where the TV was tuned to the local news channel. "What.." Jesse began but Dr. Taylor silenced him by holding a finger to his lips and gesturing towards the screen.  
  
Jesse focused his attention on the female news anchor ".details are still scarce from what we believe to be one of the biggest multiple homicides in LA for quite some time." She said in that serious narrative tone that all news reporters seemed to have. "The shootings occurred around six p.m. at the Hillside clinic on PCH. The clinic is owned and run by Dr. Michael Evans, who, it is believed, was not on the premises at the time. We go over now to Kate McHale who is at the scene."  
  
The screen changed to an outside broadcast, a pretty young woman stood in front of the police cordon line beyond which were several patrol vehicles. A white building could clearly be seen in the background. "Thank you Diane," the young woman said. "As you can see behind me there is still a lot of activity going on as police try to piece together this tragedy. As far as we know there were Twelve people dead at the scene and a further four were taken to Community General hospital in critical condition. We also have unconfirmed reports that there was a police officer actually inside the building when the shootings occurred."  
  
The screen split to now include the anchor back in the studio in the shot. "Do we have any details on who that police officer was?" She asked.  
  
"Yes Diane, if our reports are correct then the officer was one lieutenant Steven Sloan, a homicide detective with the LAPD. According to what we know he was also taken to Community General Hospital, where his father, Dr. Mark Sloan, is Chief of Internal Medicine, we believe suffering from minor cuts and shock." She paused obviously for dramatic effect before continuing. "There is some speculation developing that lieutenant Sloan may have precipitated the shootings by his presence here." There was a certain smugness about the reporters attitude as she continued. "He seems to have entered the building alone, before backup units arrived, and that is when the shootings occurred."  
  
The anchor picked up on the bait realising it's potential as a juicy news item which the nationals may pick up. "Are you suggesting that the lieutenant's actions in some way caused this tragedy?"  
  
The reporter was cautious in her answer whilst leaving no doubt what she meant. "That is what is being suggested. Normal procedure in this sort of situation is to wait for armed backup before taking any action and lieutenant Sloan appears not to have done that. Of course this is all speculation at this time and we will have to wait for results of the investigation which is ongoing.."  
  
The young reporter went on to give some other details but Jesse was no longer listening. His mind was reeling from what he had just heard, the press might as well have eviscerated his friend live on television, as do to him what they had just done. Passing it off as speculation and suggestion did not make the verbal barbs any less hurtful or any less real. The public would take it as fact because it had been on the news. Steve had been tried and convicted in two short minutes of verbal speculation. The rest of the media would dive on this like so many vultures on a carcass.  
  
When Steve awoke he would not only have to contend with his own perceptions of responsibility for the tragedy but now, thanks to the press, the rest of the world would be blaming him as well. How could anyone be expected to handle that?  
  
Jesse ran his hand nervously through his hair. How in God's name was he going to tell Mark about this?  
  
A nurse at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Dr. Travis," she said, waiting for him to turn to look at her before continuing. "There are a large number of people from the press in the foyer. They'd like to speak to you." 


	3. Speculation

Part 3 Speculation.  
  
Jesse would normally have left such things to the hospital spokesperson, who after all was paid for this sort of thing, but he was angry. Angry with what the reporter had said. Angry that she had made out that Steve was not badly hurt when his friend had damn nearly died. Angry that they were blaming him when someone else had pulled the trigger, but most of all angry at the effect this would have on his friend's recovery. Didn't these people care what effect their word's might have?  
  
Without the irrationality of anger he would have known the answer to that last question. He might also have thought better of talking to the press whilst he was so wound up himself but he wanted to put the record straight about Steve's injuries and the risks he had obviously taken to try to help people.  
  
Jesse had experienced the attentions of the press before. Several of the cases they had worked on over the years had attracted the attention of the media so he thought he knew what to expect but as he entered the foyer the movement, lights and noise as the press pack moved in almost overwhelmed him. He couldn't even count the number of microphones that were thrust into his face and he blinked in the bright lights of the cameras.  
  
Hospital security did their best to hold the seething mass back so that they didn't literally, as well as figuratively, smoother Jesse with their attention. There were so many questions coming at him that he couldn't hear any one of them. He held up his hand. "One question at a time please." He said loudly, channelling his anger to allow him to sound much more confident than he suddenly felt. He pointed at one of the reporters.  
  
"Dr. Travis Could you tell us how lieutenant Sloan is?" The young woman asked.  
  
The reply should have been 'resting comfortably and we expect him to make a full recovery' or something equally bland, The hospital only usually gave out details of a patient's injuries to family but Jesse's anger at the injustices to his friend made him want to tell them more. "Lieutenant Sloan was hit by five bullets from an automatic weapon fired at close range." He answered.  
  
Just that short comment caused another cacophony of questions to be asked as the reporters absorbed the fact that the police officer involved was suffering from more than just shock, but once again Jesse held up his hand, until there was quiet. "Fortunately he was wearing a vest so his injuries were less serious than they otherwise might have been," he continued.  
  
"Yes, I understand the other victims weren't so fortunate." The reporter who had asked the question replied, not even attempting to hide her hostility.  
  
Jesse swallowed, for the first time it occurred to him that this may not be a good idea. "The other four victims are all in a critical condition," he confirmed before quickly pointing at one of the other reporters, hoping that his question would be better.  
  
"You say lieutenant Sloan was hit at close range. That would confirm that he was in the building when the shootings took place. Have you had a chance to talk to him? Did he offer any explanation as to why he went inside?" The reporter asked.  
  
"Yes, why did lieutenant Sloan not wait for backup?" Another reporter chipped in.  
  
At this point it occurred to Jesse that not only was this not a good idea, it was a major mistake, by confirming that Steve had been shot at close range the press no longer had to speculate on whether he was inside. They could concentrate all of their efforts on pointing out that such action was against procedure and speculating that Steve may have provoked the shootings. Jesse felt the blood drain out of his face as he tried to form a reasonable reply.  
  
"I'm afraid that the lieutenant has not regained consciousness since he came in. So I can't answer that question," Jesse replied before adding as firmly as he could in an attempt to salvage something from the interview. "Until all the facts have been ascertained I don't think there is anything to be gained from speculating about his actions."  
  
Speculation, however was exactly what the reporters wanted. Jesse was too flustered to quieten them down and select the questions he wanted to answer, so again they all began to talk at once  
  
Jesse felt a hand on his arm and turned gratefully to see Greg Matthews, one of the hospital administrators who dealt with press relations. He gave Jesse an understanding look before turning to the reporters and holding his hand up for quiet. "I'm afraid Dr. Travis has to get back to his patients. So if you have any more questions then I will do my best to answer them."  
  
Jesse could take a hint and gratefully backed away from the group who were now aiming there questions at Matthews. He walked away down the corridor waiting until he was out of sight before stopping and leaning his back against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, bringing both hands up to cover his face. What was he thinking talking to the press like that? He had just made things worse.  
  
He took a deep breath and tried to control the anger that he now aimed at himself as well as the media, when his pager went. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the number. He was needed in Steve's room. Instantly alert he all but ran down the corridor.  
  
  
  
Amanda sighed as she moved on to the third autopsy. There was no way that she was going to get them all completed until the next day, she was already working well after her shift should have ended, but she knew that it was important to get all of the facts in as quickly as possible. Not that anyone ever asked for a delay in an autopsy report. If Amanda had had a dollar for every time she'd been asked for results in a hurry, then she wouldn't need to worry about CJ and Dion's college funds.  
  
This case however, was a real priority. Not just because of the massive media interest that always accompanied a high body count, but because of the involvement of one of her best friends. She needed to complete her work as quickly as she could so that they could figure out what had happened.  
  
There had been no surprises so far. The victims had died from gunshot wounds which had caused massive trauma and blood loss. She pulled back the sheet on the next victim and let out a small gasp. It was a young girl of around twelve years old. With all her experience she normally didn't let things get to her, but then, she rarely saw victims of this age killed by such violence. She sighed and restored her professional detachment before getting back to work.  
  
  
  
Mark had seen the signs that Steve was returning to consciousness and had moved to stand next to the bed. Steve opened his eyes slowly blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light.  
  
Mark found himself strangely uncertain about what to do. He had been through this often enough, too often, waiting for his son to return to consciousness and normally he would have placed a reassuring hand on his son's arm but he remembered how Steve had reacted to his touch at the clinic, so instead he rested his hand on the bed and watched his son carefully.  
  
Steve looked up and very briefly made eye contact with his father as he regained his focus, then he looked away his eyes moving rapidly around the room. As the images cleared he realised where he was. "Dad," he said quietly and then a sudden realisation hit him, his expression reflected a mixture of horror and pain. "Oh God," he whispered "It wasn't a nightmare," he stared off towards the far wall as his senses cut off from the outside world. "It wasn't a nightmare." He repeated his lips forming the words but no sound coming out.  
  
Mark watched as the emotions played over his son's features and he could not help but feel the pain with him. Once again it felt like someone was wrenching at his heart. "Steve," he spoke softly but firmly. "Steve, can you hear me?"  
  
There was no answer, no indication that Steve could even hear what he was saying. For the time being he had withdrawn from the world. Mark sighed heavily and paged Jesse.  
  
  
  
Captain Newman stormed back towards his office. He was furious. He had just been chewed out by the chief and he was looking to take his anger out on someone himself. As he moved through the squadroom he called out the names of half a dozen detectives adding a curt "my office" at the end.  
  
None of those on the list wasted any time in joining Newman in his office, they all recognised his mood. When they were all assembled he began. "Someone has been talking to the press." He said, his tone was harsh. "Some of the officers at the crime scene have been speculating about what happened, to the media and now they are convinced that the LAPD caused this tragedy. So everything we do from now on is going to be under the utmost scrutiny. I want all of the i's dotted and the t's crossed. If we don't do everything out in the open we will be accused of a cover up and I'm sure," he allowed his gaze to settle on each of the officers in turn. "That I don't need to remind any of you how the people of this city could react if they think there has been a police cover up."  
  
He paused to allow his words to sink in. "That is not to say that I want any of you talking to the press, because I don't. From now on anything going to the media comes through official channels. Malone, Walters," he looked at the two detectives in question "I want you to concentrate on plugging our little leak."  
  
"Yes sir," They both said nodding.  
  
"As for the rest of you," the captain continued, "I want you to find out everything you can about our shooter, from where he was born to what he had for breakfast this morning. Let's see if we can figure out why he decided to go crazy in a Malibu clinic tonight."  
  
All of the officers nodded but did not move.  
  
"Well what are you waiting for?" Newman yelled.  
  
As they made their way quickly out of his office Newman spoke again more quietly. "Not you detective Turner."  
  
Nathan Turner had been about to leave with the others, instead he stepped back from the door to allow the detectives behind him to pass. He waited patiently.  
  
"Close the door," Newman said, "and come and sit down." He waited for the young officer to comply before continuing. "I don't need to tell you who the press are speculating is at fault in all of this?"  
  
"No sir," he replied quietly.  
  
"Then I won't waste time. In my opinion Lieutenant Sloan is a good officer but there is great political pressure here to hang him out to dry." He placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. "There are those that would be quite content to see him used as a scapegoat if it keeps the media happy, but I'm not about to let that happen and I'm guessing that you don't want that either."  
  
Nathan knew Steve well. He had worked with him on several cases now, becoming quite friendly with Mark, Jesse and Amanda too. He had even been invited out for dinner at the beach house a couple of times. The last thing he wanted was for anything to happen to Steve. "No, I don't," he replied firmly.  
  
"Good, then we need to do all we can to help. Internal affairs will be sending someone out to talk to him but I want us to get a statement first." The Captain paused. "I hate to ask you to use your friendship with the Sloan's like this but in the long run you'll be helping them. Get out to Community General, stay there all night if you have to but make sure that you get to talk to lieutenant Sloan first." He held the young detective's gaze. "I don't want to believe that he did anything wrong but if he did I'd like to know about it before anyone else, and, if his actions were justified, then I want to ensure no one gets a chance to twist his words."  
  
"Yes sir," Nathan replied getting up to leave.  
  
"Oh and Detective," Newman called after him just as he reached the door.  
  
Nathan turned. "Sir?"  
  
"If you could persuade your friend Dr. Travis to delay the guys from IA.."  
  
"Yes sir," Nathan said with a slight smile on his face as he left the room. He had never considered the Captain to be much of a political animal, but the best way to protect Steve, if those in more politically sensitive positions were going to be gunning for him, was definitely to keep IA away from him until they had all the facts. He picked up his coat and keys and headed for the hospital.  
  
Mark stood impatiently on the corridor whilst Jesse examined Steve. When the young doctor came out he was frowning.  
  
"Jesse?" Mark asked.  
  
"He's still completely unresponsive I'm afraid. How long was he like that before I got here?"  
  
"About five minutes."  
  
"And did he respond at all when he woke up?"  
  
"He recognised me when he first came round, called me dad," Mark said unable to prevent the slight quiver to his voice. "Then he whispered something about it not being a nightmare and that's when he seemed to withdraw into himself."  
  
Jesse leant his back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "All I can suggest at the moment is that we keep an eye on him. He's obviously in a deep state of shock, which is hardly surprising considering what he's been through."  
  
Mark nodded in agreement and looked across to his son's door. Jesse followed his gaze both of them lost in a moment of empathy for Steve's suffering. It was Jesse who pulled himself back first.  
  
"I think the best thing I can do is give him something to help him sleep and we'll see how he is in the morning, but I..er.." he hesitated slightly before continuing knowing his comment was going to be hard to take. "I'd like to bring someone else in on this one."  
  
Mark turned to look at his young friend. "Psych consult?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, I was thinking Dr. Carter since she's worked with Steve before." Jesse replied, "After what he's been through, at the very least he's going to need someone to talk to."  
  
Mark nodded again and stared down at the floor briefly before letting out a long slow breath. "I think that's a good idea," he said quietly, adding silently 'That's if he'll talk to anyone.' He knew how difficult his son often found it to put his feelings into words.  
  
Jesse watched his old friend's reaction, painfully aware of how difficult this must be for him. Mark was once again deep in thought.  
  
"Mark," Jesse said, in an attempt to get his attention. He really needed to tell him about the news reports and what he had said to the press, but as the old doctor's eyes met his and he saw the pain and concern reflected in them, he realised that he couldn't do it, not yet, There would be time enough for him to find out about that later. For now he had enough to worry about "I'll go get the sedative," he said instead. "You go and sit with him."  
  
"Thanks Jess." Mark gave him a half hearted smile before going back into Steve's room.  
  
.  
  
Mark sat with Steve whilst the sedative took effect and he drifted back to sleep. As he watched he said a silent prayer that things would be better for him when he woke, but he was very much afraid that that was a prayer that was not going to be answered, at least not quickly.  
  
Jesse had been paged a few minutes after returning and had rushed off to treat one of the other surviving victims of the massacre, leaving Mark essentially alone with his thoughts.  
  
Mark had no idea how long he had been sitting thinking when there was a knock on the door. He got up to open it, not wanting to risk disturbing Steve. Detective Nathan Turner was standing outside. "Nathan," Mark said smiling in recognition.  
  
"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you Dr. Sloan but Captain Newman sent me."  
  
Mark moved out to join him on the corridor closing the door behind him. "I'm afraid that if you've come here to talk to Steve then it's been a wasted journey. He's still in a state of shock and Jesse's given him something to help him sleep."  
  
"That's OK, I can wait." Nathan replied.  
  
"Until morning?" Mark asked. "Because he's not likely to be ready to talk before then, maybe not even then."  
  
"I know," Nathan replied, "but under the circumstances I'm here for the duration. The Captain wants to make sure that we get his statement first, before internal affairs."  
  
Mark looked confused.  
  
"Given what's being said it's..."Nathan began but stopped speaking as Mark's look of confusion deepened. Of course, Mark would have been at Steve's side since leaving the clinic. If no one had told him then he would have no idea of the accusations being levelled against Steve.  
  
"What's being said," Mark repeated flatly looking bewildered.  
  
"I think you'd better sit down and I'll explain," Nathan said and ushered Mark towards the doctor's lounge.  
  
Once there, he explained to Mark what the press were saying and why, and also the reasons Captain Newman had sent him. Mark remained quiet and thoughtful as he digested this latest information and the implications for his son. When Nathan had finished Mark stood up.  
  
"Dr Sloan?" Nathan questioned his action.  
  
"I think this is something I need to see for myself," Mark said and moved over to the TV in the corner of the room. He tuned it to the local news channel and watched the report, as Jesse had done before him, with a growing sense of anger and injustice.  
  
Jesse walked into the room and came to a dead standstill at the door as he saw himself on the screen.  
  
'"Lieutenant Sloan was hit by five bullets from an automatic weapon fired at close range." His image was saying. The screen than cut to the station anchor.  
  
"We have confirmation there from Lieutenant Sloan's doctor that he was indeed inside the building when the shootings occurred and we can only guess as to...." but Jesse was no longer listening instead he was looking at Mark who had turned to gaze at him. 


	4. Confirmation

Part 4 Confirmation  
  
Mark stared across incredulously at his friend. He opened his mouth to speak but for a moment the words would not form. "Have you heard what they are suggesting?" He finally asked. "How could they.... Nobody knows what happened yet." The lines on Mark's face had deepened and his shoulders sagged forward. Suddenly he looked old and tired.  
  
"Yes I heard it," Jesse admitted quietly. "I... I saw it earlier," he continued hesitantly. "Doctor Taylor told me about it." He held Mark's gaze, a flood of guilt washing over him as he watched the effect the news report had had on his friend, knowing that he had made the speculation worse.  
  
Mark seemed to think for a moment then his expression changed. "You knew Jess?" He looked accusingly across at his young friend. "Why didn't you tell me what they were saying?" He paused, considering again.  
  
Jesse tried to form a reply, tried to explain, but he felt his attention drawn once again to the screen behind the old doctor. The news anchor could be heard clearly She was now discussing the case with a panel of 'experts' "So we know now that lieutenant Sloan entered the building some five minutes after the alarm went off and given what his doctor told us we know that he was a victim of the shootings himself. Can any of you..." Each time he heard himself mentioned his guilt deepened.  
  
Mark's eyes narrowed and his voice cut across the report asking Jesse the question he'd been asking himself for the last two hours. "Why did you talk to them Jess?"  
  
Again Jesse opened his mouth to reply but his emotions had carried away his ability to speak coherently "I.." he swallowed. "I was trying to help," he finally managed to force out. It somehow seemed inadequate even to him.  
  
Unable to control the emotional turmoil that he felt Mark suddenly directed all of the animosity he felt towards the media at Jesse instead. "Well it didn't help," he snapped angrily. "At least it didn't help Steve." His voice was raised, his tone full of uncharacteristic venom. "It just gave them more reason to .." he couldn't finish, couldn't put into words himself what they were accusing his son of. Instead he just fixed Jesse with his gaze. "Jess, how could you ?" his tone had changed from anger to a piteous appeal.  
  
Jesse couldn't deal with Mark's accusing stare. He was supposed to help and support his friends not make things harder for them. "I'm.... I'm sorry," he muttered and stepped back out of the doorway, hurrying away down the corridor.  
  
Nathan moved behind Mark and turned the TV off, the doctor had seen and heard enough for the time being. Then he pulled out a seat for him to sit on. Mark was still staring after Jesse and seemed oblivious to what was going on around him so Nathan gently guided him to the chair.  
  
"It's not his fault you know," Nathan said, having taken a seat across from Mark.  
  
It took Mark a moment to register that Nathan had spoken. He was still attempting to get his emotions under control. Not something he had to do very often. He was normally very much in control of himself but when it came to people hurting his family, his son....  
  
"Pardon?" he said when he realised that he had missed what the detective had said to him.  
  
"I said it's not Jesse's fault. The press can be awfully pushy when they sense that there's a big story." Nathan replied.  
  
"Yes but he shouldn't have.." Mark began the anger still in control but as he gazed across at the earnest young detective the feelings seemed to melt away and the more rational part of his mind took over, "You're right," he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "All of this has got me so rattled I can't think straight. I'll have to apologise to him later."  
  
"Now you understand why it's important that we get Steve's side of things first." Nathan stated. "Words can be so easily twisted as you've just seen."  
  
Mark considered the statement and once again he knew that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they got better.  
  
  
  
Jesse almost ran down the corridor, he needed to get to somewhere private, somewhere where he could think. He settled for one of the supply rooms pushing the door open and leaning his back against it to close it. He tried to get his breathing and his thoughts under control. No matter what he had done in the past he had never had Mark, his friend and mentor, look at him like that.  
  
No matter how stupid he had been, how ill formed his ideas, and he had, particularly when he first started helping Mark and Steve out, pulled some stupid stunts, Mark had always supported him, respected him. Even on the two separate occasions when Jesse had been accused of killing someone, Mark had believed in him and helped him and now, when he and Steve really needed him, he had let them both down. Knowing that the press were out to get Steve he had gone out and fueled the fire.  
  
He tried to hold back the stinging tears, tried to get a rational overview, to put what he had done into some kind of perspective. He had after all only had good intentions, but he couldn't. The worry he had for Steve, his best friend and partner, coupled with the fact that he had just lost another one of the victims of the massacre, that is what he had been looking for Mark to tell him, had left him on an emotional cliff. Mark's accusing stare had been all it needed to push him over the edge. Unable to fight them any longer the tears rolled down his cheeks as he leant back against the door and let them come.  
  
  
  
Amanda put her hands on her hips and pushed her waist forward in an attempt to stretch out the kinks in her tired muscles. She pulled the sheet over the latest victim and looked at her watch. It was after midnight and she was bone tired. As she turned to go back to her desk she saw Jesse standing in the doorway. He looked worse than she felt. "Oh hi Jess," she attempted to force out a cheery greeting but it came out flat, she just didn't have the energy.  
  
"Hi," he replied the weariness equally clear in his voice. "Just came up to see how it was going."  
  
She looked back at the body she had just been working on. "Well that was victim number 8." She said placing the bullet she had recovered into a pre labeled evidence bag. "Identified as Gary Ward. Single gunshot wound to the head killed him. Looks like it was fired from the same automatic weapon as all of the rest." She yawned. "I was just about to call it a night and get to the rest with a fresh eye in the morning."  
  
She dropped the bag onto the desk with the others but was too tired to notice that it rolled off and dropped into a partially open drawer. She was looking at Jesse who was now standing closer to her. He looked like he had been crying. "Are you OK?" She asked, concerned. "How's Steve?" She added, suddenly worried that he may be the reason for Jesse's tears.  
  
Jesse caught the concerned tone. "He's going to be fine," he replied hastily, "At least physically, fortunately apart from the wound to his arm the others were superficial. He has got a cracked rib though."  
  
Amanda winced, she knew from personal experience how painful that could be. "He's going to have a hard time coming to terms with being in there when this happened," Amanda anticipated what Jesse was going to add.  
  
"Yes," he nodded, "I gave him something to help him sleep and we'll see how he's doing in the morning."  
  
"How's Mark holding up?" She asked.  
  
"As well as can be expected, he's in with Steve at the moment. I don't think he's going to go home." He did not add that he hadn't seen Mark or Steve himself recently, unable to face Mark after their earlier confrontation, he had sent one of the nurses in to check on them.  
  
"And how are you?" she asked softly, more curious than ever as to what had caused the tears.  
  
Jesse hesitated, part of him desperately wanted to tell her about what was being said, his impromptu press conference and Mark's reaction to it. Another part of him did not want to risk getting the same accusing look from her. Right now he just needed someone to give him a friendly smile. "Fine," he finally said. "Except that we lost another one a couple of hours ago, Twenty two year old Med. student," he paused to pinch the bridge of his nose, "reminded me of me a few years ago," he added quietly.  
  
"Oh Jess," Amanda said, walking over and squeezing his arm. She smiled at him with a little more success than earlier. "Come on let's get some coffee and then we both need to get some rest. I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be another long day."  
  
She moved back over to her desk and placed all of the evidence bags into a larger envelope ready to go to ballistics. She then pushed her drawer closed and switched off the desk lamp before heading over to the door.  
  
Mark spent the night in Steve's room. He was slightly surprised that he did not see Jesse again but when the nurse came in for the second time to check on them both he realised that Jesse had probably sent her and was avoiding him. Not that he could blame him, with the way he had snapped earlier. He sighed, that was something he was going to have to sort out in the morning. He was too tired and too worried about Steve to leave him and go searching the hospital for Jesse now.  
  
Instead he sat and thought until he was too tired to even do that and he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.  
  
Jesse, Amanda and Nathan all slept in different parts of the hospital. It wasn't worthwhile for either Jesse or Amanda to go home given the time they both intended to get started again in the morning. They could spend the journey time that it would take to get to their respective homes sleeping. Amanda had arranged much earlier, when she had been at the crime scene, for her sitter to stay over with the two boys. So they both slept in the on call rooms on separate floors of the hospital.  
  
Nathan had been virtually ordered to stay there so he had gratefully accepted Mark's kind offer for him to sleep in his office. Mark had a cot made up in there for him, something that he occasionally did for himself when the situation called for him to stay on at the hospital overnight.  
  
None of them, however, slept particularly well.  
  
  
  
Amanda rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and attempted to sort her desk out ready to get back to work. She didn't feel like she had slept at all and all of her muscles still ached but she was determined to get the rest of the reports done by the end of the morning.  
  
Jesse entered the room and yawned, causing Amanda to mimic the action. "Don't start that Jess," she said smiling "I can barely keep my eyes open as it is."  
  
"Sorry," Jesse replied, "Guess you didn't sleep too well either huh?"  
  
"Some, have you checked on Mark and Steve yet?"  
  
Jesse avoided the question he had come up here first hoping that a chat with Amanda would steel him up for that particular task. "I... er.. came to see if you'd like to get some breakfast before starting work." He said instead.  
  
Amanda thought about it, she was quite hungry. "Yes OK, but I don't want to take too long about it. I need to get these reports finished."  
  
At that point Nathan arrived, both Amanda and Jesse greeted him pleasantly but they could tell that there was something wrong. It was Amanda who asked. "So what's up?"  
  
"Have either of you seen the paper this morning?" He asked, as they both realised for the first time that he had a copy under his arm.  
  
"No," Amanda replied "In fact I haven't seen the news or looked at a paper since last night. I suppose they're full of stories about how the shootings happened even though we haven't had time to investigate properly yet."  
  
Nathan looked at Jesse and then back at Amanda, "You mean no one's told you what's being said?"  
  
Amanda looked worried. "No," she said quietly  
  
Nathan turned to Jesse. "Things just got a whole lot worse," he said handing him the paper. "I'd better explain to Amanda before she reads this," and he walked over to her ushering her back towards her desk. In quiet tones he began again the explanation he had given to Mark the previous evening.  
  
Jesse opened the paper and almost dropped it as he read the headlines. "LAPD DETECTIVE ADMITS HE CAUSED SHOOTINGS" The tag line in bold print went on "Detective Steven Sloan, the officer involved at last nights massacre in a Malibu clinic was overheard at the scene to say 'It's all my fault, I killed them all.'"  
  
The rest of the story went on to detail how a 'source' who was on the scene before Lieutenant Sloan was taken away by paramedics, had overheard him use these words. It then continued the earlier speculation as to what may have happened and why he would say this. By the time Jesse had finished reading the article Amanda was ready to see it. Her face paled as she read.  
  
"My God, how could they print this." She looked up at the other two questioningly, "Steve was distraught and in a deep state of shock. I doubt if he knew what he was saying."  
  
"So he did say it then?" Nathan asked.  
  
Amanda nodded "Yes, but.." she couldn't think of how to finish the sentence and let it trail off.  
  
Nathan blew out a long slow breath, his job had just become much harder. If Steve was going to emerge from this with a job, let alone any sort of reputation left then it was even more important that they find out exactly what happened and quickly. "I just hope Steve is up to talking to us this morning," he said  
  
Amanda folded the paper. "I'm not looking forward to showing this to Mark," she said.  
  
"Oh God Mark," Jesse said dropping into a chair. His intention had been to get something to eat and then go down and try to make amends for the previous evening. Now Mark would have to deal with this latest turn of events as well. He would be in no mood for listening to apologies.  
  
Amanda looked questioningly at Jesse. Nathan decided his explanatory skills were needed again and outlined what had happened the previous evening, before trying to persuade Jesse that once Mark had calmed down he had understood that he was only trying to help.  
  
It was thus a united group that went down to talk to Mark together. When they got there he was still sitting in the chair by Steve's bed. Steve was still sleeping.  
  
Mark came out into the hall to talk to them, Nathan and Amanda backed off a little as the two friends stood and looked at each other awkwardly, an uncomfortable silence growing between them until inevitably they both started to speak at once.  
  
"Jess I.."  
  
"Mark I'm so.."  
  
They both smiled. "You first," Jesse said.  
  
"I'm sorry Jess, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that." Mark said earnestly. "I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt Steve."  
  
"And if there's anything I should have learned from you, it's to think more carefully before I jump in and do things." Jesse replied, even more relieved than he would have thought that the old doctor was not still angry with him.  
  
"I guess I'll just have to increase the lectures," Mark said grinning.  
  
It had been decided on the way down that Amanda and Nathan would take Mark to the canteen and get him to eat something before showing him the latest revelation from the press and that Jesse would stay with Steve, he needed to examine him and check his injuries anyway. So the next few minutes were spent persuading Mark to go with them, but the three of them finally succeeded and he left.  
  
Jesse walked into the room and moved over to his friend's bed. Steve stirred slightly and opened his eyes. "Jess?" he asked hoarsely and began to try to sit up.  
  
Jesse gently put his hands on his shoulder's "Hey easy there buddy," he said and eased him back down before he used the controls on the side to adjust the bed so that Steve's head was raised. "That better?" he asked.  
  
"Yes thanks." Steve said.  
  
Jesse began with the standard questions relieved that Steve was more responsive than he had been the night before. "How are you feeling?" he asked.  
  
Steve seemed to think about his answer. "Chest hurts," he said, "In fact it hurts to breathe, and my arm and head."  
  
"OK well I can do something about that," he said, pressing the buzzer to summon a nurse and picking up Steve's chart to write on it.  
  
"No," Steve said sharply, Jesse stopped what he was doing. "I don't want any drugs. I don't have to have any do I?"  
  
Jesse was confused. Steve was stubborn but he had never refused pain medication before. He looked at his friend and realised from the intense gaze that he was serious. He dropped the chart down to his side. "No, you don't have to." The nurse arrived at the door and Jesse waved her away.  
  
"Good," was all Steve said.  
  
"Do you remember what happened? Why you are here?" Jesse asked.  
  
Steve was now staring at a point on the bed in front of him.  
  
"Steve?" Jesse asked not sure if his friend had heard him.  
  
"Yes," he finally whispered, "I remember." He looked up at Jesse and again fixed him with an intense stare, "but I don't want to talk about it until I have to make my statement to Internal Affairs."  
  
"But Steve.." Jesse began.  
  
Steve looked away and shook his head. "I can't Jess, I just can't,"  
  
Again Jesse decided not to push, so he got on with the physical exam and checked Steve's wounds. It was clear from his reactions that they were causing him a fair amount of pain but he gritted his teeth and tried not to show it. When Jesse had finished checking and had redressed everything Steve collapsed gratefully back down on to the pillows, drawing in sharp breaths as he controlled the pain the movement had caused.  
  
Jesse tried once again to get him to agree to give him something for the pain but once again he refused, insisting, despite the evidence, that he did not need it.  
  
Jesse went to stand outside the room, he wanted to talk to Mark before he came back in.  
  
When Mark arrived back with Nathan, Amanda had already returned to the pathology lab to continue with the autopsies, Jesse was waiting for him. Mark looked very pale, understandable given what he had just read. They would have to keep the newspapers and TV away from Steve, at least for the time being. Jesse outlined his examination of Steve and what had been said.  
  
"Let's see if he'll give Nathan a statement then," Mark said, relieved that Steve seemed so calm and lucid, although aware that that could be a very temporary state.  
  
Steve lay in the bed after Jesse had left the room and tried not to think about the events of the evening before. Every breath that he took caused a sharp pain, as his bruised and injured ribcage was forced to move in and out. He concentrated instead on the pain. The physical pain somehow felt good, it was something to focus on that did not require him to think about what had happened. He didn't want Jesse to give him something to make it go away, then he would really have to think, besides he deserved it, and with that last thought a single tear rolled down his cheek.  
  
  
  
Mark entered the room with Nathan behind him. "Steve," Mark began, "Detective Turner is here."  
  
Steve very slowly turned his head to face them.  
  
"He'd like to take your statement," he continued.  
  
Steve shook his head. "No," he said firmly, "I'm only going to do this once. Nathan's welcome to stay but I'm not going through this until IA is here."  
  
Nathan nodded to Mark and left the room to call Newman. The Captain was understandably in a worse mood than the evening before. Nathan's report did little to cheer him up.  
  
"OK," the captain finally said," I'll see if I can call in any favours at IA and at least get you some reliable people over there. Make sure that you get down everything that is said," and without waiting for any acknowledgment from Nathan he hung up.  
  
  
  
An hour later the two officers from Internal affairs arrived and introduced themselves. "Lieutenant Stiles and Detective Mason," Stiles said indicating first himself and then the female officer next to him.  
  
Mark introduced himself and Nathan and Jesse and explained that they would all be staying during the interview. Nathan and Mark, in his role as consultant to the police force, because they would both be working the case as well, and Jesse because he was Steve's doctor and would terminate the interview if he felt that his patient was becoming too distressed.  
  
That understood they all made their way into Steve's room where the two officers were introduced again for his benefit.  
  
Stiles started the questions. "Well, Lieutenant Sloan, you have enough experience to know what we need, Why don't you explain in you own words what happened and if we have any questions we'll ask them at the end OK."  
  
Steve nodded barely perceptibly. He swallowed and then began hesitantly. "It's all still fairly blurry but I'll do my best." He paused. "I remember that I was on my way home, when a call came over the radio. I recognised the address I was just about to pass it so I indicated and pulled in." He paused again, squinting his eyes as he struggled with the memory. "I... I called it in and then got out of the car, put on my vest and went to see if I could get a look at what was happening." He stopped speaking, his eyes completely defocused as he concentrated on the memory.  
  
When the pause went on a little too long lieutenant Stiles prompted "And then?"  
  
Steve forced himself to continue speaking. "I went in and .. there was shooting and screaming and..." He stopped again.  
  
"Lieutenant," Stiles said firmly, "Can you tell us why you went in?"  
  
Steve paused and thought for a moment before looking across at Stiles, "I," there was a very brief hesitation, "don't remember."  
  
Mark stared at his son and he knew that for some reason, and he could not think in God's name why he would do such a thing, Steve was lying. He did remember he just wasn't going to tell them.  
  
"But if I hadn't gone in then those people probably wouldn't be dead." Steve continued.  
  
Everyone in the room stared at him. "Let me get this straight lieutenant. Are you saying that you think you are responsible for making the gunman open fire."  
  
Steve fixed Stiles with the same intense stare he had used on Jesse earlier. "No," he said quietly his voice edged with steel. "I don't think anything." He paused before continuing. "I know I am responsible for those people getting shot." 


	5. Emotions

Part 5 Emotions  
  
Everyone in the room stared at Steve and for a moment there was no movement, no sound. Lieutenant Stiles was the first to recover. "Lieutenant you do realise the possible implications of the statement you have just made?" He asked.  
  
Steve swallowed and attempted to answer, his mouth formed the word yes but no sound came out. He cleared his throat, "yes" he replied slightly more audibly. His eyes were focused on a point on the floor on the opposite side of the room. Mark and Jesse exchanged worried glances.  
  
From that point on Steve found it increasingly difficult to maintain his focus. He had said what he needed to say, the words that he didn't think he would be able to get out, and admitted his guilt. Now he didn't want to talk about it any more, didn't want to think about it any more, but the questions were not going to stop.  
  
Stiles looked over to Mason, they had worked together for several years and made a good team. He gave her a slight nod and she took over the questioning. Sometimes the difference between the sexes could be used to advantage. Steve was clearly in a fragile emotional state and the hard line questioning of the sort that Stiles could use to great effect, seemed unlikely to get results. Cliched though it was Mason usually took over whenever a softer approach seemed more likely to succeed.  
  
"Steve," she began her tone mild, "we need more information about exactly what happened." She waited to see if he would acknowledge her, he didn't. "You say that when you arrived you went to see if you could get a look at what was happening. Can you tell us what you saw?"  
  
The question triggered Steve's memory and he watched himself move cautiously across the parking lot until he was standing with his back against the wall next to one of the windows trying to peer in to the building beyond without being seen. "I...." he started to say, meaning to describe what he had done, what he had seen, but he couldn't. He looked up at the young detective that had spoken and his eyes brimmed with tears that he could not allow to flow. Self protection took over. He cut off the memory, suppressed it, too afraid of what followed to allow it to continue. He shook his head. "I.. I'm sorry," he continued, "I don't... can't remember."  
  
"Then how do you know that you caused what followed?" The young detective asked gently.  
  
Steve thought about the question, his guilt was overwhelming. He saw the gun pointing at his chest, heard the cry of "Now you'll all die," watched the first flash of the muzzle and listened to the first explosion before once again he managed to block the memory. "Because he told me," he whispered looking down at the floor.  
  
From there on Steve's answers were at best monosyllabic, mostly he just shook his head.  
  
Jesse allowed the questioning to continue for ten more minutes before he decided that Steve had had enough. He had noticed that Steve's breathing was becoming increasingly shallow and laboured. "I'm sorry but I'm afraid I'm going to have to stop you." he said, standing and moving over to the bed.  
  
Steve looked up at his friend and weakly tried to protest. He wanted to make sure that he got this over with once and for all. "No, I.." he tried to shift his position and winced, the pain causing him to cut his speech dead as he drew in a sharp breath.  
  
Jesse shook his head at Steve, his expression allowing no room for argument, before he turned his attention back to the detectives. Steve's reactions had just vindicated his words. "If you have any more questions then you will have to come back."  
  
Stiles and Mason exchanged a look that said, 'Well we weren't getting anywhere anyway' and they both began to stand. "Well, thank you for your cooperation," Stiles said, "We'll be in touch."  
  
Everyone except Jesse and Mark exited the room. Jesse looked at Mark. "If you give me a few minutes," he said, taking the hint Mark left too.  
  
  
  
As they left the room Nathan called after the two IA detectives. "Lieutenant, detective, could I have a word please?"  
  
The two stopped and waited, they were only a few yards ahead on the corridor. "Detective Turner," Stiles said, "What can we do for you?"  
  
"I just wanted to know what will happen now?" Nathan said," Lieutenant Sloan is a friend and colleague."  
  
Stiles, unlike some of his colleagues who worked in internal affairs, had some sympathy for the officers he investigated and, when he had been given the case the previous evening, he had pulled up Steve's records and knew that he was dealing with a good officer. Steve had a number of commendations on his record and, if his methods or at least the help he received was sometimes a little unorthodox, he had a high clearance rate on his cases. Nothing that Stiles had found out so far would suggest that Steve was anything other than highly competent.  
  
He was therefore prepared to give any information he could. "Well, as you know there is a great deal of media interest in this and the pressure is on for us to come up with answers quickly." Stiles began, "The fact that lieutenant Sloan is unwilling or unable to explain why he entered the building without backup, means that he will probably be suspended from duty until the investigation is complete." He hesitated wondering whether to outline all of the possible consequences. He decided that since the young detective had asked, he needed to be as honest as he could and at the moment it was not looking good. "Unless he can defend his actions or we can discover something to explain what happened, then I am afraid he could be facing charges of negligence." He paused once again before adding, "I'm sorry but nothing he said in there helped his cause."  
  
Nathan nodded his head slightly, "Thank you for being so honest," he said.  
  
Stiles nodded back. "We'll be in touch," he replied turning to head off down the corridor.  
  
Nathan turned in the opposite direction intending to head up to the path lab to talk to Amanda. It was then that he spotted Mark standing behind him in a position where he would have heard everything.  
  
  
  
Jesse watched and listened to Steve's breathing and his reactions before pressing the button to summon one of the nurses. He told her what he needed and she hurried off to get it. "I'm going to give you something for the pain and I want you to try and see if you can get some rest."  
  
Steve looked up at him. "No Jesse, I'm fine," he said, anxiety clear in his tone. "I told you I don't want any drugs," He repeated his earlier argument.  
  
Jesse hadn't understood his friend's reluctance for relief from the pain earlier, even less so now that he could see the deep lines on his friend's face and the effort it was taking him to control it He knew that he could no longer indulge his refusal. "Look Steve, the pain is causing you to tense your muscles and that's causing them to become more inflamed." He looked at him in exasperation. "It's affecting your breathing!"  
  
Steve gazed back. "I'm OK," he said stubbornly but true to Jesse's words his speech came in tight gasps. "I don't need anything."  
  
Jesse knew that he could not force Steve to take treatment that he did not want unless he was unconscious or the situation life threatening, and since it was neither, he had to get Steve to agree to the medication. The nurse returned and handed him a prepared syringe. He tried a different line of argument. "If you won't at least allow me to give you something to bring down the inflammation, then it will affect your healing," he said gently. "You'll have to stay in here longer." Jesse knew how much Steve hated being laid up in the hospital, usually his first question was 'when can I get out of here?'  
  
Steve did not respond at first so Jesse tried again. "You do want to get out of here?"  
  
Steve's answer worried Jesse more than anything else his friend had said. Whispered slowly and deliberately Jesse just caught it. "I...don't really care," he stared at the ground in front of him. Then he turned to look up at his friend. "Antibiotics," he said, adding with a slight shake of his head "nothing else."  
  
Jesse knew the discussion was over, he let his hand that held the syringe drop down to his side. "I'm going to get someone else to come down to see you," he said, "Dr. Carter." He knew that Steve knew who he was talking about.  
  
Steve had seen Dr. Carter for about six months following a traumatic incident just over a year ago she had helped him come to terms with it and Jesse knew that he returned on occasion to see her.  
  
Jesse did not give Steve time to react or more importantly to protest to the psychiatrist's involvement. He looked at his watch. "She'll be down in about an hour. In the meantime try to get some rest." Steve did not acknowledge the request as Jesse, unable to watch his friend's self inflicted suffering any longer, turned and left the room.  
  
  
  
Amanda was on victim number 10 of 13 when there was a knock on the door. She turned off the tape she was using and covered the body she was working on, before shouting for whoever it was to come in.  
  
The door opened and a man in his early forties entered. He was about six foot tall, athletically built with short brown hair that was already beginning to grey at the temples. His face was unnaturally pale and drawn with worry. "Dr. Bentley?" he asked nervously.  
  
Amanda pulled off her gloves and dropped them in the trash before moving over to intercept him. He was not hospital personnel and technically should not have been in there. "Yes, can I help you?"  
  
He moved towards her holding out his hand. "I'm Dr. Michael Evans," when Amanda's eyes showed no recognition of the name he continued. "I run the Hillside clinic on PCH, where..." he could not complete the sentence, he did not have to. Amanda recognised now why the man looked as he did. It was his clinic where the massacre had taken place. The people she was working on were his patients.  
  
"Dr. Evans," she said, covering the pause left by his unfinished sentence. She took his hand and shook it. "I'm so sorry, it must be terrible for you," she said compassionately. "Such a tragedy."  
  
He nodded his gratitude for her sympathetic words. "Yes, it's been quite a shock." He paused whilst he composed himself. "I... I er came to see if there was anything I could do. I thought perhaps if I could formerly identify the bodies. It might spare their families the task. It's not much considering what's happened but...."  
  
Amanda smiled at the man. To be thinking of others in the midst of what must have been quite a personal tragedy for him was admirable. "I'm sure they will appreciate it," she said as his words once again seemed to fail him. "Six of the bodies have already been moved to the morgue, I'll take you down there and arrange to let you know when we've moved the rest."  
  
"Thank you," the man said gratefully, he seemed a little dazed, "And then I need to get back to my receptionist, She was thankfully one of the survivor's. I'll stay with her until I'm needed."  
  
Amanda looked at him. "You look like you could do with getting some rest," she said.  
  
"I was being interviewed by the police most of the night," he answered wearily, "When they had finished questioning me I got them to bring me here. I've been with Sarah, the receptionist, ever since." They were headed down to the morgue by now. "When the doctor came to check on her I decided to go for a walk and ended up here." he continued.  
  
Amanda knew that it probably wasn't the most tactful time to question the man in front of her but she could not contain her curiosity. "So, why weren't you at the clinic last night?" she asked She looked across at him, he was suddenly uncomfortable, "I'm sorry if you don't want to answer..."  
  
"No, it's OK," Dr. Evans sighed, "I suppose people are bound to be curious, I'd better get used to answering questions about this. I had a flat and I couldn't get the wheel off, one of the nuts had seized, so I had to wait for someone to come out. Never thought I'd be grateful for a flat tyre..." he seemed to think for a minute. "Then again maybe if I'd been there..."  
  
Amanda interrupted his train of thought. "Don't start that, just be grateful that you weren't or I might have been working on you this morning along with the others."  
  
Dr. Evans nodded. "You're right, it doesn't do to dwell on 'what ifs.' The irony is that if I hadn't been running so late then half of those people wouldn't have been there. I was supposed to start surgery at 5.15. When I realised that I wasn't going to make it I called Sarah and told her to ask people to wait and I guaranteed that I would stay until I'd seen them. I guess most of them decided to stay on."  
  
Amanda felt a great sympathy for the man again, A tragic series of circumstances had made this disaster far worse than it could otherwise have been. No amount of dwelling on it would change what had happened but, despite the brave words, the 'what ifs' would be difficult to ignore. They had arrived at their destination. "OK if you're sure you're up to this then I'll take you straight in," she said watching the doctor's reactions.  
  
He took a deep breath and nodded as Amanda pushed open the door.  
  
  
  
Steve was grateful when Jesse left. He needed to be alone to try to bring his spiraling thoughts and emotions under some sort of control. The questioning had brought the memories too close to the surface. Somehow he needed to order what he was thinking and block out the nightmare images that threatened to take control.  
  
He was glad that once again he had avoided receiving the medication that Jesse wanted to give him. At the moment, in a bizarre sense, the pain was his only comfort, his only attachment to anything real in a world where he felt he no longer belonged. In this place there was hope and help, love and kindness. In his reality there could be only guilt and pain, suffering and remorse. No matter how hard he tried, the two would not fit together  
  
  
  
As Jesse left Steve's room he saw that Mark and Nathan had not got very far. They were standing a few feet down the corridor talking quietly.  
  
As he approached Mark looked up. "How is he?" He asked breaking off the conversation he had been having.  
  
Jesse shook his head. "Not good," he said as gently as he could. "Come on let's get some coffee, We need to talk."  
  
The three of them made their way to the doctor's lounge. Once they were seated Jesse described Steve's continuing refusal to take anything for the pain he was in and related what he had said. Nathan similarly filled Jesse in on the opinion of the detectives from IA.  
  
"It's almost as if he's doing everything he can to punish himself for what's happened." Jesse said exacerbation clear in his tone  
  
"Which is exactly how I'd expect someone with Steve's character to react," the voice came from behind Jesse and they all looked up to see Dr. Carter. "Do you mind if I join you?"  
  
Mark gestured to a seat smiling at the friendly, familiar face. "Please do," he said. Genuinely grateful that she was there, knowing that Steve was going to need all the help that he could get.  
  
She looked around at the group. "Forgive me, but at the moment I only have the newspaper's, I suspect somewhat jaded, version of events. If you could tell me what you know, I think it would help me before I go in and talk to Steve."  
  
It took the best part of half an hour before Dr. Carter had listened to all of the facts and asked a few questions about Steve's reactions. She sighed, this was not going to be easy. It was difficult to get Steve to open up and talk about things and, under the current circumstances, that reluctance to talk was heightened. It was going to be a huge barrier to his recovery. The fact that he was, at the moment, the only person who could tell them what had actually happened inside the clinic, made it impossible for anyone to refute his claim of being responsible, although she, like Mark and most people who knew Steve well, found it difficult to conceive that he had caused the tragedy.  
  
Dr. Carter was just about to get up when the page came over the hospital address system, "Dr. Travis and Dr. Sloan to the third floor nurses station STAT."  
  
Realising that the only reason that they would have been paged urgently together on that floor, was if there was something wrong with Steve, both doctors were on their feet and moving before the message even began to repeat, Dr. Carter and Nathan followed quickly behind.  
  
When they got to the station they found a young nurse standing crying repeating that she was sorry over and over and an anxious looking senior nurse waiting for them. "I think you'd better come with me," she said.  
  
Both Jesse and Mark felt a knot of anxiety tighten a grip on their gut as they moved down the corridor and entered Steve's room. The first thing that they noticed was the empty bed and the IV stand lying on it's side, the chair had been knocked over and the floor was strewn with envelopes and paper. As they moved into the room they saw a nurse crouched in front of a huddled figure in the corner.  
  
Mark felt his heart tearing apart once more, as he looked at his son who sat with his legs drawn up, staring blankly at a piece of paper that was gripped so tightly between his hands that only a small part of it was not curled into a ball in either fist.  
  
Mark came to a standstill Jesse beside him. He tried to focus on what was being said by the nurse who was just in front.  
  
Although he did not catch every word, the gist of what she was saying was that a new young nurse had brought some letters and cards down to Steve's room without opening or checking them first. About fifteen minutes later there had been several loud bangs and they had entered to find Steve as he was now.  
  
Mark bent down and picked up one of the pieces of paper. The realisation of what he was reading took a moment to sink in. His emotions, like his son's must have done, taking a mental beating.  
  
It was left to Nathan who had picked up one of the other letters from the floor to put it into words. "Hate mail," he whispered incredulously as he read the vitriolic attack on his colleague that was detailed on the paper in front of him.  
  
"It's the media interest," Dr. Carter said by way of explanation, her voice also quiet, "It gives all the cranks who hate the police force someone or something to focus on. Some of these people will target anyone."  
  
"Well tell him that," Jesse stated, continuing to gaze at Steve, who did not move, did not blink, just stared at the paper in front of him.  
  
Mark dropped the paper to the floor and moved to kneel beside his son. He had only read one of these letters and it had had an impact on him. There was no telling how many Steve had read before the overwhelming emotions he must have felt had driven him to respond.  
  
"Steve," Mark said gently laying his hand on his arm.  
  
"Dad," Steve's voice sounded like that of a small child and mentally, at that moment, that was the age he needed to be. The age where a hug and a kind word could protect you from the world. He looked up and moved to bury his head in the comfort of his father's chest. He wrapped his arms around his father's waist and held on tight as though his life depended on it. "I didn't mean it," he said desperately "Please tell them I didn't mean it" and as he finally lost control completely the tears came.  
  
Oblivious now to anyone else in the room Mark put his arms around his son and held him tight. As he felt his tears soak through his shirt, he found it difficult to hold back his own. The only thing preventing him from breaking down himself was the overpowering anger that he felt against the people who had written the letters, as this latest injustice was perpetrated against his son. They didn't even know him, didn't know what had happened and yet they felt they could judge and condemn him.  
  
Dr. Carter cleared everyone else from the room before righting the chair and settling herself on the edge to wait. She locked her gaze with Mark and could see the question in his eyes, A question she could not answer. "Why?" 


	6. Attack

Part 6 Attack  
  
Both Nathan and Jesse left the room in a daze, coming to a standstill in the corridor so that the two nurses, who left behind them, had to excuse themselves as they gently pushed between them. Neither man seemed to notice. They remained deep in thought for minutes, deeply moved by what they had just seen, each trying to imagine how they would react if they found themselves in the situation that Steve was in. Each coming to the conclusion that it was unimaginable.  
  
They then, without even realising that they mirrored each others thoughts, tried to fathom what could drive others to feel so much hate, that they could target a perfect stranger with words designed to injure. Jesse turned to look at Nathan. "The letters. why would anyone..?" he asked hoping that the young detective could give him an answer that made sense in a world which suddenly seemed to make none.  
  
Nathan shook his head. "I don't know," he replied staring blankly at the young doctor. "I just don't know," he repeated. Mentally he shook himself, standing around here wasn't helping anyone. "Look I'm going to go back to the station, fill the captain in," he said, "I'll try to find out how the investigation is progressing." He looked with concern at Jesse, the young doctor was extremely pale, having worked with them before Nathan had some idea of how close he and Steve were, more like brothers than friends. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked.  
  
Jesse looked at him not seeming to register the question straight away, he looked back at the door to Steve's room before answering distractedly, "Yes, I'll be fine. I've.er got some patients to check." He turned to look thoughtfully at the young detective. "The only way we're going to be able to help him is by figuring out what really happened in there."  
  
Nathan nodded, again his thoughts had unconsciously mirrored the young doctor's, "I'll come back as soon as I know anything." He replied, knowing that both Jesse and Mark would appreciate an update on the situation.  
  
Jesse returned the nod and watched him walk away down the corridor and move out of sight before he finally let out a heavy sigh and went to try and do some work.  
  
  
  
Amanda had returned to her lab leaving Dr. Evans with the morgue assistants to complete the formal identifications of the victims. She was just completing the twelfth autopsy, relieved that the task was almost complete when Dr. Taylor entered the room.  
  
"Hi Bill," she said wearily, trying to hide her tiredness behind a smile. "How's it going?"  
  
Bill returned the greeting before continuing. "I'm sorry," he shook his head, a momentary sadness in his eyes. "I just came to tell you that we just lost another one. They'll be bringing her up in a little while."  
  
Amanda shook her head and looked at her colleague, this tragedy was getting to all of them more than normal. Somehow deaths, even if lots of people lost their lives seemed so much easier to stand back from if it was due to some accident or natural disaster, however tragic the circumstances. With mass murder on this scale it was much more difficult to remain detached. She sighed and nodded, "OK I've just got one more and then I'll get to her. Who was it?"  
  
"The receptionist, Sarah Mackay," Dr. Taylor replied.  
  
"Oh no!" Amanda reacted to the name as her thoughts went out to Dr. Evans. She wondered if he had made it back down there or if the young woman had died alone. She saw that Bill was surprised by the strength of her reaction. "I just met her employer Dr. Evans, he came up to identify the bodies and then he was going back down to sit with her." She explained.  
  
"Oh" there was nothing else he could say.  
  
"Was he there when.?" Amanda asked.  
  
Dr. Taylor nodded "He was asked to wait outside when she crashed but we couldn't save her. I think he's with her now." He paused momentarily. "Her family were flying down from Boston." He looked at his watch, "They'll still be in the air." He was not looking forward to telling them that they had arrived too late. He looked up at Amanda. He had come up here not just to give her the news but also to ask her something. "I'd.er." he began hesitantly. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know the outcome of the autopsy when you're done." He paused deciding what to add. "I really thought that we'd managed to save this one."  
  
Amanda looked at him and recognised the expression. Some patients doctors expected not to be able to save, others had known complications arising from their illness or injury and died anyway, sad, but explainable in terms of the complexities of the human body, but it was the third group where the patient was recovering seemingly without problems, if they died, if the cause wasn't obvious, that always led to the questions. 'Could I have done more?' 'Was there something I missed'. Questions doctors often looked to her to answer for them  
  
"Of course," she said, her tone soft and sympathetic, "I'll page you when I'm done."  
  
Bill Taylor smiled appreciatively, "Thanks I'll let you get back to it."  
  
  
  
Nathan got the message that the Captain wanted to see him in his office as soon as he entered the building. Without pausing to even check his desk or look at any other messages he headed straight there, knocked and entered.  
  
Captain Newman was on the phone and Nathan was about to leave and come back later when the Captain waved him in. Obediently he entered and sat down, unable to avoid hearing at least the Captain's side of what appeared to be a fairly heated conversation.  
  
"I appreciate that sir," Newman was saying animatedly, "I'm just saying that if we do that then it will fuel the press speculation even further. It makes it look like we believe that he has done something wrong." He listened for several seconds. "Well couldn't we just leave it that he's not fit for duty. He is laid up in the hospital at the moment." He listened again, his agitation increasing. "Yes I know but." More listening. "I take your point." He sighed heavily before continuing. "Yes, I'll let him know and put it into effect immediately.Yes sir, I will sir." He waited for the line at the other end to disconnect before slamming the receiver back into it's cradle and cursing softly.  
  
He looked up at Nathan. "I trust you got the gist of that?" The young detective nodded. "The chief is insisting that we suspend lieutenant Sloan pending the outcome of a full investigation into the incident." He scowled and sat back in his chair. "He assures me that he's got my officer's best interests at heart, but the truth is, he's prepared to sacrifice him if it means avoiding negative publicity for the department, whatever the truth of the matter." He stared across at Nathan. "So I hope you've got something good to tell me."  
  
Nathan shook his head and proceeded to give a detailed report of the morning's events, from the interview with IA to the hate mail that Steve had read.  
  
The captain listened intently interrupting only twice to ask questions. When Nathan had finished he was thoughtful. "I'll put an officer on Sloan's door," he eventually said. "If he's already received mail of that sort then there's no telling what some of these cranks might try. The speculation in the press is only going to get worse the longer they don't have any facts to print. I'll also increase the patrols out past the Sloan's home. Dr. Sloan is fairly well protected from both the press and any anti-police types whilst he's at the hospital but when he goes home."  
  
"I'm sure he'll appreciate that sir," Nathan said. He was certainly seeing a whole new side of his boss, who was more renowned for chewing people out than he was for his care and concern for others.  
  
"As for you, I'd like you to hang out at the hospital just in case Steve is prepared to tell us what he remembers. There's also the other two survivors, they might come round and be able to tell us something."  
  
"Two sir?"  
  
"Yes the fourteenth victim died about half an hour ago," Newman confirmed sadly.  
  
"Do you mind if I take the files on what's been discovered so far and the crime scene pictures back to the hospital so that Dr. Sloan can take a look at them?" Nathan asked. "He may be able to spot something we've missed."  
  
Newman sighed. "If Mark Sloan was a police officer and not just a consultant I wouldn't let him anywhere near this, too emotionally involved."  
  
"But he isn't a police officer."  
  
"And it wouldn't make any difference if I agreed to this or not," Newman said smiling. "He'd still investigate and he'd still somehow get to see those files. So yes take them, see if he can come up with anything." He knew that nothing on the planet would prevent Steve's father from doing everything possible to clear his son and restore his reputation. Especially since, by the sound of things, Steve's mental health could be dependent upon that too.  
  
  
  
Mark did not know how long he held his son for before the sobs finally subsided, but each heave of his son's broad shoulders, each tear that soaked through his shirt and touched his skin tore another little piece off his heart. He had only known his son cry like this once before in his adult life, and on that occasion they had barely rescued him from mental breakdown. Now he feared that this time they would not be able to save him.  
  
He could not escape the thought that this time he might have endured too much. All of the love that they shared, all of the emotional strength that they got from the bond that passed between them, may not be enough to pull him back from the despair he was now feeling. No matter how much support and caring his friends and family could offer, this time it still might not be enough.  
  
Some of Steve's strongest character traits, stoicity, honour, compassion and empathy for others, were going to act against him. The things that helped to make him a good police officer and a good man would hinder his ability to deal with the events he'd witnessed and the reaction of those around. Mark knew his son almost as well as he knew himself and, under the circumstances, that knowledge bought him only fear.  
  
He held on to Steve as tightly as he dared, not wishing to aggravate his injuries but needing to supply the comfort and reassurance that his son so desperately craved, not even conscious of the fact that he was rocking him gently. He stared into space and tried to figure out what he was going to do.  
  
  
  
Steve was lost in a wave of despair, his mind assaulted with a myriad of negative thoughts as guilt, anxiety and hopelessness all took hold in a rapidly downward spiral. He clutched desperately at the thread of comfort that his father's presence could provide, unable to prevent the sobs that were painfully wrenched from his system.  
  
For the moment, the idea that he did not deserve any comfort, that whatever happened was punishment due for the injuries he had been a party to, was swamped by a more primal need. As his senses returned and the overpowering emotion that drove his tears subsided, a new sense of calm settled over him. Once more the conscious part of his brain began to retreat within itself to a place where it could hide and protect him from the pain of the world beyond.  
  
The sobbing slowed and stopped and apart from the gentle rocking he was still.  
  
  
  
Dr. Carter watched silently. She had not really stayed for Steve's sake, until he was considerably calmer and more lucid, there was little that she would be able to do for him beyond giving him sedatives to calm him down. Thankfully it looked like Mark's presence would make that unnecessary, and it was for him that she stayed. His help and support would be invaluable in Steve's recovery but for that he would have to come to terms with what had happened himself.  
  
His connection with the case, the fact that he had witnessed first hand the aftermath of the massacre, meant that he may also suffer some sort of mental trauma as an after effect of what he had seen. Before he could hope to help his son, she needed to make sure that he was all right.  
  
She waited until Steve was quieter before getting up and placing a gentle hand on Mark's arm to get his attention. If she left it too long Steve would be asleep, they needed to get him into bed and check his condition and she did not want to have to disturb him once asleep.  
  
Mark took a moment to register her presence but then looked questioningly into her eyes.  
  
"We need to get him into bed," she said softly.  
  
Mark nodded and as gently as he could he began to move. There was a slight protest at first as Steve was reluctant to release his hold on the one piece of comfort he had left, but with gentle and careful persuasion the two doctors managed to get him first to his feet and then onto the bed where he collapsed weakly back on to the pillows.  
  
Although he had released his embrace on his father, he had replaced it by gripping his hand tightly. Even now as he lay on the bed he still held Mark's hand tightly in his. Only as he drifted off to sleep did he finally let go.  
  
As Mark watched Steve's eyes close and his breathing settle to an even pace, he felt the grip on his hand slowly loosen as Steve fell into an exhausted sleep. He felt the relief wash over him. At least in sleep Steve had some sense of peace and a retreat from the pain.  
  
Automatically he began to check Steve over to see how the events of the last hour had affected his injuries. Fortunately the dressings on Steve's arm and chest remained intact and there was no blood to indicate that they had begun to bleed again. However there was a nasty gash in Steve's arm from the IV line that he must at some point have ripped out. The wound needed cleaning and dressing and checking to ensure that none of the needle remained embedded in the arm. For that they would need an X-ray.  
  
In quiet tones Mark explained the situation to Dr. Carter.  
  
"Is it urgent?" She asked, "I mean, will he suffer any serious ill effects if he waits a couple of hours before it is treated?"  
  
Mark shook his head. "If there is anything in there it shouldn't move in that short a time scale. and the wound was caused by a sterile needle."  
  
"Then let him sleep," Dr. Carter suggested, "They'll be time enough to treat his injury when he's awake. Right now the rest will do him more good than anything else." She looked over at Mark as he watched his son. "I'll get a nurse to come and sit with him."  
  
Mark looked up. "No it's all right I'll stay."  
  
Dr. Carter kept her voice quiet but there was no mistaking the determination in her tone. "No Mark we need to talk. I'll get a nurse in to clear the place up and sit with him. She'll let us know when he wakes up." She regarded him calmly. "If you're going to help him, then you are going to have to take time for yourself first."  
  
Mark stared back at her. Much as he hated to admit it she was right. He was exhausted himself and having trouble resolving his own emotional state. If he was going to help his son through this then he needed to sort himself out. Not to mention the fact that they all needed to find out what had happened inside the clinic, and since it did not look like Steve was going to be able to help them it was up to him, Jesse and Amanda with Nathan's help, to try to figure out what had gone wrong.  
  
  
  
Amanda sighed and closed up the last of the reports. It was on Sarah Mackay. She had died of a pulmonary embolism almost certainly resulting from her injuries. Dr. Taylor had been correct though, if it hadn't been for that, Amanda was in no doubt that the young woman would have eventually recovered. The other injuries had all been treatable. She had seen many people survive worse.  
  
She picked up the rest of the pile, copies of half of the reports had already been sent earlier to the homicide officers on the case. She put a band around the newly completed ones and picked up the envelope containing the bullets that were yet to go to ballistics. Not that she expected to find anything unusual. All of the tests so far, apart from a couple where the bullets were too badly damaged to give a conclusive result, had shown that the bullets came from the same gun, the semi automatic weapon recovered at the scene. The only exception to this were the two bullets from Steve's gun which had killed the perpertrator of the crime.  
  
Taking her parcels to the door she handed them to the young officer who had been sent to collect them and had been waiting patiently for the last twenty minutes. That done she looked at her watch it was almost one.  
  
"Time to get some lunch," a familiar voice said.  
  
Amanda looked up and smiled at Jesse. "Are you making it your mission in life to see that I eat properly today," she asked semi seriously.  
  
"Not necessarily but I am hungry," he looked at her, "Come to think of it I missed breakfast. I was checking on Steve at the time."  
  
The mention of Steve brought the inevitable questions about both him and Mark. Jesse explained, trying to be as positive as he could but it wasn't easy. He was glad that Amanda hadn't been there earlier, hadn't seen Steve as he had, it sounded bad enough when he described it and he left out the details. "..Mark spent the last hour with Dr. Carter and I just checked on Steve again he was sleeping." He finished his narrative, having filled her in on the events of the morning..  
  
She took a long moment to digest the information. "Come on then let's go get something to eat." She finally said, trying to supress the newly heightened worry and concern she felt for her friends. They would need her to carry on as normally as she could. "And I'll fill you in on what I've found out, not that it is going to do much good," she added despondently.  
  
"Hey," Jesse said trying to inject a positive note, "We've figured out more complicated problems."  
  
"I know Jess," Amanda said holding eye contact with him, "but have we ever had so much at stake?"  
  
Jesse swallowed, Amanda was right, even when Mark had been convicted of murder and sent to jail it hadn't seemed as bad as this. The idea of standing by and watching their best friend slowly destroy himself with guilt while the world, through the press and cranks, urged him on, seemed intolerable.  
  
When Steve woke again Mark was sitting at his bedside. He had spent over an hour with Dr. Carter and had talked through what he had been through over the last couple of days and she was right, it had been exactly what he needed. He now felt much calmer and although the fear for Steve was still there, it no longer overpowered him in the same way that it had earlier.  
  
Whilst he was sitting there he had been pondering the various reasons that Steve might have had for breaking with procedure. Once he had seen to Steve's injuries and made sure that he was settled, he would try to get a look at some of the police reports. He should be able to persuade Nathan to help him out with that and he needed to check on Amanda's autopsy reports too.  
  
Although Jesse was officially Steve's doctor, the last time he had come to check on Steve, he had agreed to Mark sorting out his injury when he woke up. Since Mark was reluctant to leave him at the moment Jesse had agreed to check on the old doctor's other patients for him. He would only be paged if something urgent came up.  
  
The room had been cleaned and all of the offending letters removed, with strict instructions that nothing was to be delivered unless it had been checked first. Dr. Carter had discussed with Mark the possibility that they would have to move Steve up to the psych ward, but they had decided to hold off for the time being, taking things one step at a time.  
  
Mark moved over so that Steve could see him. "How are you feeling son?" he asked  
  
Steve looked at him and shook his head but said nothing. Somehow speech seemed beyond him.  
  
Mark's heart sank. Dr. Carter had warned that Steve may be unresponsive, but knowing that the reaction was expected did not help. He patiently explained to Steve what he needed to do to his arm and pressed the button to call the nurse. Steve sat passively whilst the injury was treated and then obediently moved, with help, into the wheelchair so that he could be taken up to X-ray.  
  
The X-ray confirmed that a small piece of the needle had broken off and would need to be removed. It was only a minor procedure but was embedded quite deep so they would need an OR for a short time. Mark stopped to call down to make arrangements whilst the nurse began to wheel Steve back down to his room.  
  
Mark had just finished on the phone when Jesse arrived. He hung up and turned to his young friend. "You're just in time," he said showing his young colleague the X-ray. "I've just organised for us to use OR 4. It shouldn't take long."  
  
It was at that point that they heard the commotion.  
  
  
  
As Steve was wheeled down the corridor he was gradually becoming more aware of what was going on around him. Dr. Carter would have been heartened by the signs. As his thoughts became a little clearer, more lucid than they had at any time in the last eighteen hours, he knew that there was something that he had to do. In the hail of negative emotion that he had felt that morning, there was something vitally important that he had not told the investigating officers. It did not, in his opinion, lessen his guilt, or his culpability for what had happened, nonetheless it was something that they needed to know.  
  
He resolved to get his father to contact Detective Turner so that he could pass the information on. He would ask him as soon as he got back to his room.  
  
John Ryland gripped his wife's arm, the tears were falling freely down his face, they had been since he had arrived in the hospital. Neither of them was really in a fit state to deal with anything but his wife was holding it together slightly better than him, so it was she who had asked at the nurses station for directions to the morgue, only to be informed that they were on the wrong floor. Sympathetically the nurse gave them directions and they headed back towards the elevator.  
  
It was at that point that Mr. Ryland spotted Steve. "Oh my God that's him," he said and before his wife could respond he had set off at a run towards Steve's position swearing loudly at him. "How could you?" he yelled and whilst still a few feet away he launched himself at Steve, knocking him, the wheelchair and the nurse who was pushing it, flying.  
  
Steve did not understand what was going on beyond that he was being attacked, quickly and painfully he pulled himself to his feet and prepared to defend himself, as the clearly distraught man in front of him rounded for another attack.  
  
"She was only twelve years old," the man yelled. "You were supposed to protect her, not get her shot," and then Steve understood.  
  
Steve Sloan had about 5 inches in height and a considerably better physique than the man who had attacked him. He was also well trained in self defense. Even injured he would easily have been able to defend himself.  
  
The young nurse who had been pushing Steve picked herself up and watched with a shocked fascination as the two men faced each other. As the distraught man moved in for another attack Steve dropped his guard completely and just let the man hit him, making no attempt to protect even sensitive areas like his face.  
  
John Ryland had lost all sense of reason, all perspective. His twelve year old daughter had died senselessly, and in front of him he had someone he could blame. Someone to take out all of the grief, anger and agression he felt on. So he rained down blows mercilessly, oblivious of the fact that Steve was not defending himself, unaware even of his wife screaming at him to stop. A torrent of verbal abuse accompanied his fists.  
  
The nurse, knowing she was not strong enough to pull the man off backed away as the noise brought others at a run. Mark and Jesse were amongst the first there and grabbing John Ryland either side they pulled him away from Steve. Although he struggled and kicked out as they pulled him back they managed to get him away, handing him over to security as the officers arrived.  
  
As the red mist that had driven him began to clear, John Ryland stopped fighting and broke down in tears. His wife moved in to comfort him as the security officers kept a tight grip on either side. "Oh John, what have you done," she whispered, turning to look at the man he had been hitting.  
  
Mark and Jesse moved over to where Steve was leaning back against the wall. The young nurse had moved back towards them. "I'm sorry Dr. Sloan it all happened so fast I couldn't stop him," she said to Mark momentarily diverting his attention. "He.he.. "she stuttered," he just stood there. He just let him hit him," she continued clearly distressed by what she had seen.  
  
"I know," Mark said gripping her arm. "Take the wheelchair away, get a gurney." He ordered knowing that the best way to stop the young woman from panicking was to give her something to do. He would check her out more thoroughly when he had dealt with Steve.  
  
He turned his attention back to his son. Jesse was standing beside him as Steve lost his fight to stay on his feet. He slid gently down the wall, Jesse helping to slow and steady his descent. Mark did not like what he saw.  
  
Steve's complexion was grey, his breath came in short rasping gasps and it was clearly painful for him to breathe. Jesse had his stethoscope out and was listening to his chest. There was blood covering the bandages on both his chest and arm and his lip was split and already swelling.  
  
Jesse looked up at Mark, without exchanging a word they both knew what was wrong. Steve's broken rib had been forced into his chest and the lung had collapsed. Every breath that Steve now took was making the situation worse as air filled the chest cavity and increased the pressure, preventing it from reinflating and blocking air flow into the other lung.  
  
"We need to get him to the OR now," Jesse said urgently..  
  
"There's a gurney on the way," Mark replied, finding it difficult to contemplate the latest crisis. Then he looked down at Steve who was trying to say something. "It's all right son, don't try to speak, just try to remain calm and everything will be all right," but Mark knew that in reality they may have very little time.  
  
What Steve had to say was too important to him. "Don't.. blame him." he forced out one word with each breath. "Killed. his.little.girl," he finished dropping his head back satisfied that he had made his point, but the effort of speaking even those few words had cost him greatly and as his head fell back he dropped into oblivion. 


	7. Loss of Faith

Part 7 Loss of Faith.  
  
Mark helped as Steve was lifted on to the gurney, barely able to watch as his son gasped for every painful breath. As the oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose, he was barely aware of Jesse's shouted instructions and then they were moving at a run for the elevators.  
  
In a day when time had lost all meaning, suddenly seconds seemed to turn into hours. Mark had never noted before how long the elevator doors took to open, how interminably slow it seemed to move between floors, as all the while Steve fought for precious air.  
  
Any hope that Mark had of maintaining his clinical detachment was lost as he looked down at his son's blood soaked chest and listened to the rattling gasps. He leant back on the side of the elevator for support, grateful that Jesse was there to help his son.  
  
Steve opened his eyes. He felt as though someone had rested a ton of concrete on his chest and, with each breath, the weight seemed to become heavier. There was something covering his face and he found himself unable to get enough air, in his confused and disoriented state, he put the two together and decided that it was the mask that must be making it harder to breathe. He began to panic, attempting to lift his hand to his face to remove the obstruction.  
  
Jesse looked down into the steel blue eyes of his friend and saw the mixture of pain and panic. "Steve," he said quickly, soothingly, grabbing his hand to prevent him removing the mask. "It's all right but I need you to take slow shallow breaths for me, do you think you can do that? Slow shallow breaths."  
  
The familiarity of the voice had a calming effect and Steve did his best to obey, forcing himself to breathe as slowly as he could, the pressure seemed to ease slightly.  
  
Jesse continued his calming monologue, encouraging Steve as his breathing eased a little. Knowing that every second was precious, he willed the elevator doors to open, starting to move even as they slid apart. As they set off once more at a run, there was no break in his encouragement and reassurance.  
  
The OR was ready and waiting with a team on standby. It wasn't until Jesse had handed Steve over to a highly competent surgical team and headed off to scrub up himself that he noticed that Mark was no longer with him.  
  
He looked back down the corridor and as Mark had with Steve the day before, barely recognised the figure he saw as his friend and colleague. Mark's complexion was ashen and his face was drawn with lines of age that were normally hidden by a healthy glow and friendly smile.  
  
Jesse started to move towards him when one of the nurses, who had noticed the old doctor's distress, approached him. Jesse recognised her, she had worked at the hospital longer than he had and he relaxed slightly, knowing that Mark would be well looked after, with a heavy sigh he turned and headed into the OR to try once more to save his friend.  
  
Mark stood and watched as his son was once again wheeled into the OR and tried to order his thoughts. For the last eighteen hours his world had been falling apart and every time he thought he had hit rock bottom and could fall no further, he found himself dropping again. Each time it took a little more out of him, was a little harder to pull himself together. Knowing that his son needed him usually gave him strength, but today that need had been a drain, sapping his emotional will.  
  
He was vaguely aware of the nurse escorting him to the doctor's lounge and getting him a drink, occasionally he would look up at the clock to check the passage of time but it still held no meaning. When he thought that five minutes had passed he looked up and it was more like an hour. When he thought an hour had passed it would only be a few minutes.  
  
He knew that Amanda came to sit with him and tried to talk to him for a little while, but he hadn't been able to focus on what she was saying and so he got the impression she had given up trying to talk. She had sat with him instead in companionable silence.  
  
He looked at the clock again, half an hour since he had last looked, two and a half hours since he had watched Steve disappear through the doors. He looked round the room, Amanda was no longer there. Had she told him where she was going? Or why? He wasn't sure but she probably had, again he only had vague impressions of her speaking to him.  
  
He looked up. Jesse was sitting next to him a concerned look on his face. He heard his name spoken sharply as though someone were trying to get his attention.  
  
"Mark," Jesse said for the fourth time, a worried edge to his tone. He thought he had got through on his third attempt and had added more information but he was mistaken. He tried again. "Did you hear me? I said Steve's going to be all right."  
  
Mark turned to look at him, his pain filled eyes finally showing a spark of comprehension, He thought for a minute and then his eyes filled with tears. "No, Jesse," he began falteringly, his voice sounding like it would crack with every word. "You saw him. He.just stood there and let a total stranger beat him half to death." The tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks, "because he thought he." this time his voice almost deserted him. He closed his eyes briefly but all he saw was an image of his son standing and taking a vicious beating, making no attempt to defend himself. He opened them again desperate to make Jesse understand his despair, putting all the strength he could into his voice he repeated the phrase this time managing to complete it "Because he thought he deserved it." He whispered.. He held eye contact with the young doctor. "He's not all right, even if he makes a full recovery physically, do you think we'll ever get him back from that?"  
  
Jesse had never seen Mark so defeated, no fight in him, and it scared him. Even when Steve had nearly died and he had been accused of murder, Mark had always had hope, had always maintained the faith that his son would recover from his injuries but now that faith seemed lost.  
  
"Mark," he began, trying to hold his friend's attention, "Of course we'll get him back," he said with more conviction than he felt. "You know as well as I do that whatever Steve feels about what happened, there is no way that he deliberately would cause the death of others." He paused allowing the passion to build. He may not have been sure that they would be able to help Steve come to terms with what had happened to him, but he was sure of the fact that, whatever he said, Steve could not be held responsible for the events in the clinic, and between them they were going to prove it. He still had faith, somehow he had to re-instill that in Mark because without him that task would be so much more difficult.  
  
He thought carefully about his next comment. It would have to be good to halt Mark's mental decline. "Steve did not cause yesterday's events," he stated firmly. "You have to hold on to the fact that Steve did nothing wrong," His voice was strong now and even, driven by his certainty of what he was saying. "He needs us now, more importantly he needs you to help him see that."  
  
Mark looked into Jesse's eyes, despite the young doctor's tiredness he could see the passion that burned within, the utter conviction in what he was saying, and he longed for that conviction himself, longed for the inner strength that would help him to help his son, but at the moment any emotion other than despair seemed beyond him. "I know Jess," he said quietly, "I know.. it's just.." but he could not put his feelings into words, instead he just shook his head and looked down at the table.  
  
Jesse watched, his passion melting into compassion as Mark once again gave in to his emotions. He placed his hand reassuringly on his friend's arm and waited, unsure of how best to help.  
  
  
  
Amanda moved thoughtfully back to the doctor's lounge. She had been called down to sit with Mark over two hours ago, shocked by his appearance and by news of what had happened to Steve, she had attempted to comfort him but had been unable to get through to him. When she had spoken, he had barely seemed to comprehend what she was saying. So she had remained at his side watching him quietly, worrying about him, worrying about Steve as they waited for news.  
  
When she had been paged to take an urgent phone call, she had been reluctant to leave him on his own. She had told him softly where she was going and although he had turned to look at her, she was unsure if he had heard what she had said. He certainly didn't acknowledge it.  
  
The call had been from a clerk at the ballistics laboratory, checking on an anomaly between the bullets listed as having been sent and the ones received. Amanda had been slightly annoyed that she had had to leave Mark in the state he was in, to deal with this, but could not take it out on the clerk, she was just doing her job. Amanda had tried to concentrate on the details of the call. There was apparently one bullet missing from the batch the laboratory had received the night before and they wanted her to check her records. She promised that she would as soon as she got the chance.  
  
Thinking about it there was any number of things that could have happened. Amanda prided herself on being the consummate professional even under the most difficult of circumstances, but last night she had witnessed one of the worst sights of her professional career, that coupled with her own emotional involvement and her tiredness, meant that she could have overlooked something, mislabeled or even miscounted what she was sending. Tragically, she had removed so many bullets, it would have been an easy mistake to make, but right now she had another priority. So she pushed her musings to the back of her mind and headed back to see if Mark was all right.  
  
  
  
Nathan had spent only half an hour in the hospital. The call about the attack on Steve had come over the radio just as he'd arrived and he had entered the hospital at a run. By the time he got to the right floor Steve had already been removed to the OR . John Ryland was sitting on a chair, his wife knelt in front of him. She had her head resting against his chest and he had his arms around her, his wrists handcuffed together. Two security guards standing either side completed the tableau.  
  
Two uniformed officers stood taking statements from those who had witnessed the attack. One of them came over as he recognised Nathan. "So what have you got?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Well no shortage of witnesses that's for sure," the young officer said and proceeded to describe the attack. When he had finished he shook his head. "Damnedest thing though," he added puzzlement in his voice. "I mean look at the guy," he nodded in the direction of John Ryland. "Even injured Lieutenant Sloan could have easily stopped him, but all the witnesses say that he just dropped his guard, let the guy hit him."  
  
Nathan's brow creased with both puzzlement and concern. "Do we have any idea why he attacked him?"  
  
The young officer nodded. "Yes it seems his twelve year old daughter Mary, was one of those who was killed in the clinic last night." Nathan glanced across this time with some sympathy for the man and his wife. "It seems," the young officer continued, "that he recognised the lieutenant from the pictures in the press and blamed him for what happened to his daughter. Hardly surprising given the way they've been stirring things up." The young man looked thoughtful. "They don't ever seem to consider the pain and misery that their words can cause, do they?"  
  
Nathan held his gaze, remembering having the same thought himself only a few hours earlier. "No," he said quietly, "they don't."  
  
Nathan knew that he had no choice in the matter but it did not make it any easier to do what he had to do next. The assault had been a serious one and Nathan was left with no choice but to arrest John Ryland, despite the mitigating circumstances. That was something a judge would have to decide on.  
  
He was as gentle as he could be. Explaining what was going to happen to the couple who had just lost their daughter was difficult, but it had to be done. He decided to take them to the station himself, needing to personally ensure that they got sympathetic treatment.  
  
As he made his way down to the underground car park, where he had arranged for a car to meet them, in order to avoid as much of the press as possible, the irony of the fact that the press were going to have a field day reporting this and it was they who had caused it, was not lost on him.  
  
It also occurred to him that they could use this as yet another anti-police baton, to verbally beat the police force as a whole, and Steve Sloan in particular, with. They already had news of Steve's suspension to fuel their still factless speculation. Somehow Nathan knew that they would somehow blame Steve for the fact that he had been attacked and would rally sympathy for his attacker. The fact that Ryland had been arrested so soon after his tragic loss would make great headlines. The fact that Steve had nearly been killed would probably barely make the bylines.  
  
  
  
Jesse stood and moved over to the door as soon as he spotted Amanda's return. He looked back at Mark who did not seem to notice that he had gone. Seeing Jesse's approach Amanda waited patiently for him to come to her. "Steve?" she asked once he was close enough.  
  
"Is going to be all right," he said, then remembering Mark's comments added, "at least physically. His lung collapsed and we had to reinflate it. We also had to replace most of the stitches from the bullet wounds. That's what took so long," he explained. "I've inserted a chest drain and moved him to ICU." He paused briefly, "given the state he was in earlier we've decided to keep him sedated for the time being. Him ripping out the IV line wasn't such a problem but if he removed the chest tube." Jesse did not have to explain any further Amanda could imagine the consequences for herself. Jesse held her gaze, "but, despite everything it's not him that I'm worried about at the moment." He turned to look behind him.  
  
"Mark?" she said questioningly. His concern mirrored hers.  
  
He looked back at her. "I've never seen him like this. I'm just hoping it's just shock at what he witnessed and nothing deeper."  
  
Amanda nodded understanding. "I've been sitting with him for the last two hours and I don't think he even knew I was there."  
  
"We've got to help him snap out of it, both for his sake and for Steve's." Jesse's depth of feeling still showed strong. "We're going to have to work together to figure out what happened. To prove that Steve wasn't in the wrong." He said becoming more animated.  
  
"Hey, it's OK, it's not me you need to convince," Amanda said, grateful that at least one of her friends was behaving like himself.  
  
"Sorry," Jesse said letting out a breath with the word.  
  
Amanda smiled at him. "Don't apologise, I agree with everything you are saying." She looked over at Mark. "Maybe we should get Dr. Carter down to see him. You say she spoke to him earlier?"  
  
Jesse nodded "For about an hour, after we found Steve and the letters."  
  
"Then I'll go and call her. You stay with him." She said moving towards the door.  
  
  
  
Two hours later, Jesse and Amanda were sitting in Dr. Carter's office, her secretary had shown them in. Informing them that she would join them shortly. They exchanged worried glances.  
  
Once Dr. Carter had arrived in the doctor's lounge and had the new situation explained to her, she had insisted that they both try to get back to work and leave her to it, and reluctantly they had followed her advice. She had promised that she would be in touch as soon as she had something to tell them. The call to come to her office had arrived ten minutes ago and now they sat and waited.  
  
She entered the room and immediately apologised for her delay, before sitting behind her desk and turning to look at the two anxious doctors. "OK, first of all I've just admitted Mark," she said, holding up her hand to forestall the questions that immediately sprang to the lips of his two friends. "He's going to be fine, it was just the shock of witnessing Steve's beating on top of all the other trauma's of the last twenty four hours, that overwhelmed him. I managed to have a long talk with him and he was a lot more positive by the end than he was at the beginning,"  
  
She was relieved that it was slightly easier to get the old doctor to talk about his feelings than it was his son. Once she had managed to get him to verbalise and then rationalise his feelings about how his son was reacting, his spirits had seem to lift considerably. She wasn't going to claim miracles, he was still feeling a lot of emotional pain, but she genuinely believed that by the end of their talk he was beginning to deal with it. There had then been only one other barrier to that, tiredness  
  
"But he was exhausted," she continued, "so I managed to persuade him to let me give him something so that he could get some sleep. I think you'll find that he'll be a lot more like himself when he wakes up."  
  
Both Amanda and Jesse breathed sighs of relief. "How did you persuade him to let you admit him?" Amanda asked, knowing that Mark would have tried to insist that he go sit with Steve.  
  
"Trade secret," the doctor said smiling at them, before continuing. "No, to tell you the truth I didn't have to. He was so tired by the time we had finished talking I don't think he had he strength to argue, besides he knew that it would be best for him and Steve." She sat back in her chair and carefully watched the reactions of the two doctors, noticing a considerable ease in tension since they had first arrived. "I do have another reason for asking the two of you up here." she said, still studying them. "As close friend's of the Sloan's, you could be instrumental in both helping Steve recover and in helping Mark to hold it together. Whether you know it or not you have already helped a lot today." She looked at Amanda, "You sat with Mark when he needed someone."  
  
Amanda was gratified, so he had known she was there.  
  
Dr. Carter moved her gaze to Jesse, "and I don't know what you said to him but you convinced him that he needed to sort himself out so that he could help his son. It's that kind of support that they are both going to need to get them through this, but I just need you to know, that this is going to be rough on the two of you as well, and may take some time."  
  
"Hey Steve and Mark have always been there for me when I've needed them," Jesse said. "I'll be there for as long as it takes."  
  
"The same goes for me," Amanda confirmed.  
  
Dr. Carter smiled, she knew enough about these four friends to have anticipated the answers but it never hurt to get confirmation. "Then I'll talk to you both soon." She stood and shook their hands. "If you could let me know when Steve wakes up. I'll come down and talk to him."  
  
  
  
As soon as they were out of Dr. Carter's, office, Jesse was called over to the nurses station where he was handed a telephone message. "It's from Nathan," he said as he rejoined Amanda. "he wants us to meet him in the cafeteria."  
  
Amanda grimaced. "What is this a conspiracy" Have you two decided I'm too thin or something? This'll be my third visit today," the release of tension engendered by their talk with Dr. Carter, allowed her to lighten the mood a little.  
  
Jesse took the bait and looked critically down at Amanda's hips. "No, now you come to mention it I think you could do with losing a few pounds," he said teasingly, truth was she had never looked better. "Maybe you should stick to salad when we get there?" And he grinned at her as only he could, as he jumped out of the way of the friendly swipe,  
  
"Jesse Travis," she said in mock fury, chasing after him as he headed down the corridor.  
  
Their mood was more serious again by the time they reached the cafeteria, having stopped off to check on both Steve and Mark on the way down, both father and son were, for the time being, peacefully asleep. The many machines that Steve was hooked up to and the police guard on his door, however, served as a reminder of the gravity of the situation, if any were needed.  
  
They entered the cafeteria and looked around for Nathan. He stood as he spotted them, having been watching out for them and they quickly joined him at a table. "I brought the files down for Mark to have a look at," he explained slightly awkwardly, "How is he?"  
  
Jesse gave him a summary of both Mark and Steve's condition, whilst the young detective listened quietly, his concern deepening  
  
.".So, until Mark wakes up, I'm afraid you're stuck with us," Jesse completed his explanation..  
  
"Then we'd better get to work," Nathan said resolutely passing them each a file.  
  
"Before we get started I'll get us some drinks," Jesse said putting his down and pushing his chair back.  
  
He walked over towards the queue and noticed one of his colleagues reading the evening paper. He could not help but read the headlines. Without saying a word he snatched the paper from the young doctor's hands. Suddenly feeling like he was in one of the episodes of 'The Twilight Zone' that he had watched as a kid. He read the headline again. In this episode of the program Newspaper headlines were being used to destroy someone piece by piece. Ignoring the protests of the Dr. whose paper he had taken, he took it back to their table and put it down.  
  
Amanda and Nathan both read.  
  
'SUSPENDED POLICE LIEUTENANT HAS DISTRAUGHT PARENT ARRESTED.' As Nathan had suspected the rest of the article went on to imply that Steve had somehow picked a fight with the distraught man and then had him arrested for assault. There were photographs of the Rylands getting into Nathan's car and a smiling picture of their daughter happily playing on the beach, captioned with 'Murder victim, Mary Ryland, Age twelve.'  
  
"How can they twist the facts like this?" Jesse asked.  
  
"They might as well just print lies." Amanda added.  
  
"I guess that as long as it sells papers," Nathan suggested, "they just don't care." 


	8. Determination

Part 8 Determination  
  
It took the three of them several minutes to absorb this latest attack on their friend. Nathan was the first to recover. He folded up the paper and threw it on to the vacant chair next to him as though that would somehow remove it from their memory "Come on," he said with all the enthusiasm he could muster. "It's up to us to prove them wrong." He picked up a file and opened it  
  
Jesse and Amanda followed his lead and did their best to concentrate on the reports. Only when he had read the same piece of information five times and realised he still did not know what it said, did Jesse decide to make a comment. "I don't know about you guys but I'm having real trouble concentrating right now."  
  
Amanda looked up. "I've read the same thing over, at least three times, I just can't seem to take it in." She agreed.  
  
Nathan looked at them both, seeing the tiredness in their eyes, in the slump of their shoulders. He looked at his watch it was after eight. They had all been functioning at extreme stress levels for more than twelve hours and that, on top of the restless sleep and the trauma of the night before, had drained all of them. "Look it's getting late. You two should both go home and get some rest. It's been a long day." He looked at them each in turn. "I'll bring the files back in the morning."  
  
"Hey I'm used to working 36 hour shifts you know," Jesse began to protest. "I'm sure I just need some coffee." Although he knew Nathan was right, the idea of delaying their efforts at clearing Steve did not appeal to him.  
  
Amanda looked at him. "No Nathan's right," she said softly, "Remember what Dr. Carter said, Steve and Mark are going to need us to be supportive for the foreseeable future. We won't be able to do that if we work ourselves into the ground." She picked up the file, "besides if I stare at this thing for the next four hours, I'm fairly sure that I'd still miss even the most obvious clue."  
  
"OK," Jesse said reluctantly, "but I need to check on Steve and Mark before I go."  
  
"I'll arrange for security to meet us downstairs," Nathan said, "In say thirty minutes." He looked at his watch, "Will that give you enough time?" He asked.  
  
Jesse looked confused. "Security?" He asked.  
  
"To get us past the press and to our cars," Nathan explained, "You're Steve's Doctor and I'm one of the lead investigator's on the case. With all the media interest there are bound to be people just waiting for us to come out. Security is keeping them out of the hospital but once outside.." He let the sentence trail. "Even if it's just the opportunist freelance photographers, paparazzi, they may give us a hard time." He looked at Amanda. "It may not be so bad for you, they may leave you alone, but you were at the scene, so I don't know"  
  
Both doctor's paled slightly, especially Jesse who had already had an encounter with the press that he was trying hard to forget about. All he could do was nod. "Half an hour," he said quietly "I'll meet you by the entrance," and he stood and left.  
  
Amanda and Nathan watched him go before turning their attention to straightening the files. Neither of them spoke, each lost in their own considerations of what was happening around them.  
  
  
  
Mark entered Steve's room and automatically checked his chart before sitting down. He was relieved to see that all of the signs were extremely positive. Steve's lung had re-inflated and although he had had a mild fever during the night, his temperature was now back to normal. If Steve had been his patient he would be considering the best possible prognosis. Having satisfied his curiosity as a doctor, he moved over to the bed to satisfy his needs as a father.  
  
He stood for several minutes just watching Steve sleep, watching the rise and fall of his chest, grateful that his son was alive. In those few minutes of peace, he was able to ignore all thoughts of what his son would face when he woke up and count his blessings that once again he had not lost him. Where there was life there was hope.  
  
Had he thought about it, he may have been surprised by the contrast between his mood and his thinking this morning with that of the night before. Despair had been replaced by more positive emotions. Although it still hurt to think of the emotional pain that his son still had to face, it did not seem the insurmountable obstacle that it had the previous day.  
  
Several factors had helped Mark turn his thinking around. First and foremost the, albeit drug induced, sleep. It was amazing how much easier it had been to think positively when he had awoken, when the previous afternoon even linking a few coherent thoughts together had been difficult.  
  
The second had been Dr. Carter's calm and reassuring talk with him. She had managed to get him to think about his reactions to what he had seen more rationally, to see past the emotions and feelings and put things into perspective. She had got him to see that Steve's reactions were just that, emotional responses to the trauma he had been through. Given time and patience they would help him to recover.  
  
The third factor had been the support of his friends, just knowing Jesse and Amanda were there for him had helped immensely, knowing that they would be there for both him and Steve gave him strength.  
  
So when he had woken, he had spent more than half an hour just lying back in bed thinking. In the cold light of day he considered how his son was feeling. He tried to put himself in Steve's position. Over the years he had been involved in so many murder cases that he had occasionally felt mild pangs of guilt, when they had not solved a crime as quickly as they would like and more people had been killed before the murderer had been stopped. He had even had people try to blame him for the death of others, claiming that his attempts to solve a case had caused more people to be killed, but he had always been able to accept that it was the person committing the act that was ultimately responsible. There was only one occasion when he had felt genuinely responsible for the death of another. When he truly believed that he had caused someone's death.  
  
The case had happened a couple of years ago, the phone call from a kidnapper accidentally coming to the beach house instead of to the victim's home. He had decided to go along to the ransom drop to see if he could help, instead the father of the young boy who had been kidnapped, was shot and killed. For several days he had believed it was only his presence there that had got the man, Dan Edelman, killed. He felt truly responsible for his death.  
  
It turned out that the man's business partner had taken the opportunity to kill him and that Mark's interference had had nothing to do with it, but still Mark could remember the guilt and pain he had felt, the look of hatred in the eyes of Edelman's wife when he confessed what he thought he had done and the overwhelming desire to punish himself for his perceived responsibility.  
  
He drew on that experience now. If he had felt that bad about one death how much worse must it be for Steve feeling responsible for the deaths of so many. Mark now felt that he understood Steve's reaction to John Ryland. If Edelman's wife had wanted to hurt him, at the time, he knew he would have let her, anything to try to admonish the guilt. He had felt so much despair, so much pain, feeling that he had robbed a family of a loving husband and caring father, that he had vowed to give up getting involved with investigations. He knew that if they had not gone on to solve the case and find the real reason that Edelman had been killed, he would have had a hard time living with the guilt. Now he knew that it would be even worse for Steve, the involvement of the media would increase Steve's perception of responsibility and, however hard they tried, they could not keep that from him indefinitely.  
  
Mark knew that his only option, however bad things got for his son from here on in, was to solve the mystery of what had happened inside the clinic in those crucial few minutes between Steve getting there and backup arriving. Knowing his own reactions in the Edelman case and knowing that Steve tended to take things to heart even more than he himself did, he knew that they had to convince Steve that it was not his fault to give him any chance of a full recovery. Otherwise the guilt would eat away at him.  
  
Armed with this new resolve, Mark had quickly showered and dressed before heading up to Steve's room where he stood and considered his options. He knew that Jesse would be in soon to see Steve and he could talk to him then about getting hold of the case files. He sat down on the chair next to Steve's bed and started going through the events of Saturday night, for the first time able to repress the attached emotions and focus on the facts.  
  
  
  
Jesse drove into the underground part of the hospital parking lot. Despite the brilliant sunshine he had the top up on his convertible. He also wore dark sunglasses and a cap, not for the protection they afforded from the brightness of the sun but for the little anonymity they might afford him from the attentions of the press.  
  
He had been grateful for Nathan's suggestion of using security the evening before. The press had been waiting by his car and he had once again found people trying to push microphones into his face and ask him questions which he had no desire to answer. The bright flashes from the cameras continued to assault his eyes until he was in the car and driving away. He counted himself lucky that he had not had an accident given the residual effect the lights had on his vision.  
  
He was relieved when he arrived home that there was no one waiting outside his apartment building. He had half expected the press to be lying in wait for him there, but he obviously wasn't an important enough part of the story. Fine if they caught him coming out of the hospital where they were hoping for bigger fish. He was just an extra bonus, OK to use in the absence of anyone more interesting, but not worth devoting resources to. Still that suited him, if he never saw another camera or microphone again, it would be too soon.  
  
Wearily he had entered his apartment closing the door behind him and leaning his back against it. He rested his head back and closed his eyes. Symbolically shutting the world out behind him he took a few deep breaths before moving and tossing his keys carelessly on the counter.  
  
He wasn't quite sure what drew him to switch the TV set on, let alone tune it to the news channels. Perhaps some sort of morbid curiosity, or perhaps a desire to find out just exactly how bad things were. He sat and watched the half truths and sparsely factual accounts, the speculative experts and the reports on the possible failings of the LAPD. He even flicked between channels to compare the bias. By the time he forced himself to switch off, he found himself almost wishing for some other disaster in the world so that the attendant media would have something else to focus on, but unfortunately it seemed a slow few days for news and this story was a juicy one, far too many facets of 'public interest' for the networks to allow it to drop. It was almost as if it was taking on a life of its own.  
  
Jesse had sat for a while and thought. The arrest of John Ryland bothered him, from the way Steve had reacted before he had passed out, he knew that it would bother him too. No one deserved to go through losing a child, and given what the press were doing, making Steve out to be at best incompetent and at worse downright dangerous, it was no wonder the man had reacted as he had. Despite what he had done to Steve, he found himself feeling sorry for the man.  
  
Jesse eventually managed to get some sleep but was still tired when his alarm went off. He had showered and dressed without his usual enthusiasm before heading in to work. As he pulled his car into the unfamiliar parking space in the hope that there would be less chance that he would be noticed, he found himself reluctant to even get out of his car to head inside.  
  
He tried to shake off the apathy that had gripped him. "Come on Travis," he told himself, talking aloud to try to increase the conviction of the words. "Your friends need you and sitting here isn't doing anyone any good." He pulled the key from the ignition and climbed from his car.  
  
Once inside, thankfully managing to avoid any further encounters with the press, he headed up to Steve's room to check on his friend. As he entered, he spotted Mark in the all too familiar position by his son's bedside. Mark looked up and, to Jesse's relief, smiled warmly at him.  
  
"Hi Jess," he said, standing and moving over to join him, then his brow creased in concern at the young Doctor who looked tired, "Are you OK?"  
  
The remarkable difference in Mark's demeanor from the emotional wreck of the day before was not lost on Jesse as he moved to meet Mark in the centre of the room. He tried to match his friend's positive approach. "I'm fine," he said, returning the smile, "and shouldn't I be asking you that."  
  
Mark thought for a moment, briefly remembering his emotional collapse from the day before but refusing to dwell on it. "Yes I guess you should." He paused briefly, before continuing hesitantly, "About yesterday, thank you for being there, when I.. when Steve. when we both needed you."  
  
"Hey you don't have to." Jesse began.  
  
"No, I do." Mark interrupted, "I'm not sure what I would have done without you and Amanda there." Mark couldn't say anything else on the subject he was beginning to get emotional again and he could not afford for that to happen. They had to focus on the case. He looked away from Jesse, watching his son once more. "I've been doing a lot of thinking and you're right, the one thing we need to do is prove to Steve that he didn't do anything wrong and to do that we have a lot of questions to answer."  
  
Jesse wasn't sure what thought processes had led his old friend to this current state of resolve but he was grateful for them. There was no mistaking the bubbling undercurrent of emotion as Mark attempted to control his deep concerns for his son, but in that last statement Jesse had recognised the Mark he knew and loved, keen to apply his sharp mind to solve a puzzle.  
  
Jesse felt his own spirits begin to lift again. He looked at his watch. "We've arranged to meet Nathan at nine, he's going to go to the station first to see if there is anything new, then he's going to bring all of the current case files here. We've arranged to meet in Amanda's office. That should just give me time to check Steve over and," he eyed Mark critically, "You to get yourself discharged."  
  
Mark looked briefly blank before realisation dawned, of course, Dr. Carter would have had to admit him the night before, it hadn't even occurred to him when he had woken, he had been so intent on coming up and checking on Steve. He nodded at Jesse wondering if the young doctor was just very astute or if he had checked to see whether he had been discharged. "I'll go and sort that out now," he said.  
  
  
  
Amanda only arrived in her office minutes before Jesse and Nathan were due, she felt a little guilty that she had not had time to go and check on Steve and Mark but knew that Jesse would fill her in. She had taken the opportunity to spend a little time with her two sons, partly because she needed to, needed their refreshingly optimistic outlook on life to bolster her own jaded view and partly because she needed to tell them something. She had sat down and had a serious talk with them about what they might hear. Both boys spent a lot of time with the Sloan's and loved them both. She wanted to ensure that whatever they heard about 'uncle' Steve on the playground grapevine, they knew that it wasn't true.  
  
As she watched their innocent faces turn to confusion as they tried to understand why anyone would say mean things about uncle Steve, when he was so nice, she couldn't help but file away one more reason to resent the press in all of this.  
  
So that was why she was a little rushed getting in and was still trying to straighten things out when Nathan arrived, closely followed by Jesse and Mark.  
  
The greetings and inquiries about Steve's progress did not take long. Nathan and Amanda were both as relieved as Jesse had been about Mark's much more positive outlook and so it was with a determined resolve that the four of them sat down to study the information that the police had gathered so far. They all read in silence at first attempting to absorb the information whilst looking for even the slightest anomaly that might help them.  
  
The first interruption came as a slight gasp from Amanda as she turned to the page in the file that she was reading that contained the ballistics reports. She had just remembered the phone call from the day before about the missing bullet. She explained her reaction to the others and then got up to go check her records. She also made the second interruption as she softly cursed. "Dammit," The others looked up once more.  
  
"There's definitely a bullet missing," she said, clearly frustrated, Amanda was not used to making even minor errors and losing a bullet in a murder investigation was a little more than minor.  
  
"They may have lost it at the other end, or in transit?" Jesse suggested helpfully.  
  
"No, not unless the bullet and evidence bag managed to jump out of a sealed envelope. The clerk at the ballistics lab checked the contents against the manifest as soon as it arrived and it wasn't there then." She closed her eyes and thought back. "I filled in the manifest as I was going along, there were so many of them, and placed the evidence bags here." She indicated the place on her desk where she had put them. "I then transferred all of the bags to an envelope and handed it to the officer who had been sent to collect them."  
  
"Could it have fallen on the floor?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Possibly but the room's been cleaned since then, someone would have found it." Amanda said the frustration mounting.  
  
"Just walk yourself through the events of the evening," Mark said calmingly, "I'm sure it'll come to you,"  
  
Amanda took a deep breath and once more closed her eyes trying to visualise her actions. After a moment she opened them and turned to look at Jesse. "It was the last autopsy I did just before you came to talk to me, I had just finished and I dropped the bag on the desk." She stood in the position she had been in that night and tried to remember what her desk had looked like. She closed her eyes and then opened them again as the memory returned. She slid the drawer open and triumphantly removed the missing evidence bag. "It must have rolled off into the drawer, without me noticing." she said, annoyed with herself for such a basic failing but relieved that she had found it. "I'll get it over to ballistics now." She picked up the phone to call someone to take it over. "Not that it will tell us anything new," she added as she dialed.  
  
The next interruption, once the bullet had been dispatched, came from Mark. "Nathan what do you make of this?" He said pointing to a line on the page.  
  
"There were no fingerprints found on the perp's gun." He said reading. He shrugged. "I can't say I thought it was significant."  
  
"It is if the guy wasn't wearing gloves," Mark said.  
  
Amanda was already checking. "Definitely no gloves on the body when it got here."  
  
"Crime scene photographs show him with no gloves on," Jesse said handing him the relevent photograph.  
  
"There was no question that he fired the gun though, look he has it in his hand in the photograph." Nathan said.  
  
"Well at least resting on his open hand," Mark replied.  
  
Amanda shook her head, "No, he definitely fired a weapon, he had powder traces on his hand."  
  
"So how did he fire it without leaving any prints on it?" Mark asked.  
  
Everyone looked blank. "Maybe it was an error by whoever picked up the gun and dusted it?" Nathan suggested.  
  
"On a case with this high a profile, I don't think so," Mark said, "There has to be another explanation."  
  
"Well I've got one or two questions myself," Jesse added.  
  
"Go on," Mark encouraged.  
  
"Well there were two of the victims who weren't patients of Dr. Evans, the medical student James Reed who died here and a young woman named Linda Wright, she's one of the two remaining survivors. I'd like to know why they were there at all."  
  
"And I'd like to know more about our perp Robert Hughes. You've all seen his record, a career criminal moving his way up through the ranks. None of his psych profiles, taken whilst he's been in prison, suggest any sort of mental instability and he wasn't using any narcotics." He looked at Amanda to confirm this.  
  
"Tox panel was clear," she agreed  
  
"So why would he go berserk and kill all those people?" Nathan asked.  
  
"I don't know," Mark shook his head picking up the file again, for a moment he had thought they had been getting somewhere. "Let's just keep at it."  
  
The knock on the door came at about 11 am. They had all been working solidly for two hours apart from Jesse and Mark who had each taken a brief break to go down and check on Steve.  
  
Captain Newman entered looking tense and nervous, "Dr. Sloan, I was told I might find you here," he said, his tone betraying the tension, "I wonder if I could have a word please."  
  
"Of course," Mark said trying not to be worried by the tense expression. "Please take a seat."  
  
The Captain seemed to hesitate for a moment trying to decide whether he wanted to speak to Mark alone first but concluding that the others would know soon enough anyway, and that the doctor might need some support, he took the offered seat. He cleared his throat. "There's no easy way to say this," he began.  
  
The level of tension in the room increased palpably as everyone reacted to those words. No good news ever followed such an opening, so they all braced themselves for the latest dip on the emotional roller coaster on which they seemed to be traveling.  
  
"It's the new assistant DA Sandra Gray. She's trying to make a name for herself and she thinks this will raise her profile." Sometimes Newman hated politics. He took a deep breath before getting out what he had to say. "Given the evidence we have so far and the statement Steve's made, she's decided to bring charges against him for culpable negligence. She's going for a charge of manslaughter on the thirteen victims. I thought you should know in advance she plans to issue a warrant this afternoon."  
  
He looked round , no one made a move or a sound as they all tried to come to terms with this latest shock and the implications it would have for Steve. 


	9. Arrest

Part 9 Arrest  
  
Newman gave them all a moment to absorb the news before continuing. "I thought I should let you know in person rather than a phone call. I'm afraid there's not much I can do about it, it's out of my hands." He paused before continuing. "I.. er.. could stay and talk to Steve if you'd like. It might be better if it came from someone he knows."  
  
Mark looked up into the Captain's eyes. "No, that's all right, we'll take care of that, but thank you for taking the time to come down here." Mark took it as a sign of respect for him and for his son that the Captain had come in person to let them know. He also realised that Newman was in a difficult position, he could not be seen to be interfering in a part of the case that was being handled by internal affairs but he would not let one of his men be unjustly treated. It was a fine line that he had to tread.  
  
"It's the least I could do under the circumstances," Newman replied standing. "I'd better be getting back to the station."  
  
Mark stood too and the others followed his lead. "Thank you again," he said.  
  
"No trouble," Newman replied. He tried to think of something encouraging that he could say to these four concerned people. He knew that the department owed the three doctors a lot for the cases they had helped to solve over the years, but he could think of nothing that would offer any comfort. There was nothing that had turned up in the investigation so far that would offer any explanation for lieutenant Sloan's actions and, from the talk he had had with his friend in the DA's office, it seemed that, in the absence of new evidence, there was a fairly strong case against him. He turned to Nathan, "Let me know as soon as you get anything from any of the victims, Detective."  
  
"Yes, sir," Nathan replied gratefully, knowing that this was Newman's way of telling him that he could spend as much time at the hospital as he needed.  
  
As Newman left the four sat down again. Amanda was the first to speak, "What now?" She asked looking round.  
  
There was no reply for a few moments, it was Jesse who finally offered something. "I don't know what we should do but I do think that we should bring Dr. Carter in on any discussions."  
  
Mark nodded. "I'll go and see if I can arrange it," he said  
  
  
  
Dr. Carter looked at each of the three concerned doctors in turn. She had been relieved at Mark's improved appearance and demeanor from how she had left him the day before, but that relief had been short lived as he outlined the reason that they had asked to speak with her. She considered carefully the implications of what she had been told before making any attempt to speak.  
  
"This is certainly going to make things much more difficult," she finally said, having absorbed the information. Keeping Steve isolated from what the press were saying about him would have been a difficult but achievable task. They could have allowed him to come to terms with his own reactions before having to consider the reactions of other people, but now that choice had been taken from them. An arrest warrant was not something that he could be protected from, at least not for long. "This needs to be handled very carefully," she continued, "as you know Steve is emotionally very vulnerable at the moment. This is just going to validate his own feelings of responsibility for the deaths." She fixed her gaze on Jesse. "Dr. Travis, when will we be able to speak to him?"  
  
Jesse shifted in his chair. "Dr. Taylor and I took the decision to keep Steve sedated until his lung has had a chance to repair itself." He looked at his watch, "If he's not given any more he should come round in a couple of hours. If there are no air leaks we should be able to remove the chest drain tomorrow morning."  
  
Dr. Carter looked at her watch, making a mental note of when Steve was expected to waken. "I take it you would rather have continued with the sedation?"  
  
"Yes," Jesse replied honestly. "There's still a danger of serious complications if there's too much movement before the drain is removed." He hesitated before adding, "I'm not sure if he could be relied upon to consider that at the moment."  
  
Dr. Carter nodded "One of us needs to explain the situation to Steve before the arresting officers are allowed to see him. It shouldn't be a problem to delay them on the grounds that he is medically unfit to receive visitors, at least in the short term. So the first thing to decide is who is going to talk to him?"  
  
"I'll do it," Mark said quietly, he did not look up at first, watching a point on the floor in front of him. As he raised his eyes slowly to meet Dr. Carter's, he continued, "it needs to come from someone close to him, I'll explain it to him."  
  
Dr. Carter had been watching his reactions carefully. There was a confidence there, a strength that had been absent the previous day. Still, she had to ask. "Are you sure that you're up to it?"  
  
Mark held her gaze, his resolve firm, from now on he was going to be there to help Steve through this. "I'm sure," he confirmed.  
  
"Very well," she agreed after taking another moment to consider, "but if you page me when he wakes up I'll come down just in case you need me" Mark nodded. She turned her gaze to Jesse "It would be helpful if you could be around too." She continued. "I don't want to be alarmist but I really have no idea how Steve is going to react and we need to be prepared for all contingencies." She did not put the possible reactions, nor the reasons she thought Jesse should be there, into words, she did not need to.  
  
Jesse nodded. "I'll be there," he stated.  
  
"OK now our next problem comes if they want to take him into custody straight away."  
  
All three of the doctors spoke at once protesting at the idea. The truth was, despite the time they had had to think about it, none of them had considered Steve being taken from the hospital, at least not until he had recovered physically. They had all been concentrating on the likely psychological effects the news could have on him. Dr. Carter held up her hand for quiet. "There is a chance that they could request he be transferred to the jail wing at USC Medical Center," she continued. "This is, after all, a felony arrest warrant." She looked across at Jesse "Unless he is unfit to be moved. Is he?"  
  
Jesse considered it. "I'd say it was unwise until the drain has been removed, unnecessary movement should be avoided."  
  
"Then we have at least until tomorrow, once the warrant is served, to arrange for bail or a release on his own recogniscence." She paused thinking again. "Of course there could be a bigger problem there."  
  
"Which is?" Mark asked.  
  
"He may refuse to sign the bail request papers, given his current state of mind he may not want to accept any sort of assistance." Dr. Carter replied.  
  
"Then we'll just have to persuade him to," Mark said resolutely. Despite the apparent confidence in his tone, he did not underestimate how difficult a task this might be, but the consequences of failure were not something he wished to contemplate.  
  
  
  
Nathan had decided not to accompany the three doctors to the discussion with Dr. Carter, it almost seemed like he would be intruding on a family matter. Instead he had decided to go back to the station and try to get more information on the points that their morning deliberations had raised. His first check was on the fingerprinting of the weapon. Discussion with a couple of experts confirmed what he had already known, that it would be impossible for the weapon to have been fired without leaving prints on it.  
  
The only explanation for the lack of prints, unless you assumed that the fingerprint expert was completely incompetent, was that somebody had wiped the prints from the gun in between the shooter, Hughes, using the weapon and it being collected as evidence. There was only Steve, the paramedics and the other police officers who had arrived at the scene who had the opportunity to do this and, as far as Nathan was aware, none of these people would have a motive. This meant that the only explanation made no sense and just left even more unanswered questions.  
  
Nathan also checked on the two young people who apparently had no reason to be there. Here a link had been found with the receptionist Sarah Mackay. She had apparently moved to LA to go to college and had done a year of pre- med before deciding that she could not take the pace and dropping out. She had taken the job of receptionist at the clinic only three weeks earlier. According to friends of James Reed, he and Sarah had been dating. As for Linda Wright, she was her former roommate. It seemed clear that the two had gone to the clinic to see their friend.  
  
Although Nathan checked for any new information on Robert Hughes, there was little beyond what was in the report that he already had. He was a petty crook, who had started his career as a juvenile running with a gang, stealing cars, street brawls, vandalism, having spent a lot of time in and out of detention centers he had graduated to more serious offenses once he turned 18. The last entry on his record was a warrant for his arrest in connection with an armed robbery, but, despite the fact that he was moving towards more violent crimes, as far as Nathan could tell he had not up to that point actually injured anyone. There was nothing to suggest that he was capable of the level of violence that had occurred at the clinic, certainly not unprovoked.  
  
Nathan snapped the file shut in frustration, there certainly didn't seem to be anything in Hughes' record that would help Steve. He gathered what little new information that he had and headed back to the hospital.  
  
  
  
Mark sat quietly in Steve's room leafing through the files in an attempt to keep his mind occupied whilst he waited for Steve to wake up. He had spent around twenty minutes after Jesse and Amanda had returned to work, discussing what he should say to him with Dr. Carter, but they had quickly established that it would largely depend on his state of mind when he regained consciousness. Mark would have to react and temper what he said accordingly.  
  
He had spent the first hour, since he had come down, running through as many scenarios as he could think of but in the end had just become frustrated. There were too many unknown parameters. So that was why he had decided to pick up the files and check them through once more, before the frustration led him into another spiral of negative emotion like that of the day before.  
  
As he was reading the autopsy report on Robert Hughes, he noticed yet another small anomaly. He picked up a forensic report to double check and then laboriously studied the report from the crime scene. Steve's gun had fired three shots, two of them had hit Hughes but the third bullet had not been recovered. As far as Mark could tell from the photographs and from the report there were no bullet holes or bullets recovered from the wall behind Hughes. All of the bullets from the automatic weapon had been dug from two of the other three walls. Of course, it was something else that could have been overlooked, and Mark had no idea if it was significant, but he made a mental note to ask about it.  
  
Mark looked up as Steve stirred, he instantly dropped the file he had been checking to the floor and moved over to his son's bedside. Although Steve opened his eyes briefly and shifted his position it was clear to Mark that the sedative still had hold of his system. This was confirmed as he drifted back to sleep. Mark stood watching him for a few minutes before sighing heavily and returning to his seat to resume his wait.  
  
Part of him was frustrated at the delay, wanting to get through the difficult conversation, wanting to know how Steve was going to react, instead of enduring the agony of waiting for an unknown but undoubtedly unpleasant outcome. Another part of him was relieved at the delay, wanting to spare his son for as long as possible from yet another emotional trauma, wanting to protect him from the harsh realities that he would have to face. The internal conflict from these opposed and yet equally valid desires prevented him from picking up the files again. Instead he sat and watched and waited.  
  
  
  
Assistant DA Sandra Gray breezed into the hospital lobby to greet the assembled press. Her hair and make-up were perfect, her navy suit chosen to make her look simultaneously attractive and professional. She had made sure of a judicious leak from her department to ensure that the press, who may have got tired of hanging around for two days with little to report, had restored their ranks. Everything was perfect for her to maximise this opportunity and raise her profile. Success in a case like this would do her career no end of good..  
  
The two IA officers, Lt. Stiles and Detective Mason, the same officers as had interviewed Steve the day before, were somewhat less happy about the attendant publicity. In fact they were fairly unhappy about the arrest. Apart from what lieutenant Sloan had said to them, and he had really been in no state to be a reliable witness, all of the evidence they had was circumstantial. Left to make their own decisions they would have waited to see if either of the other witnesses recovered to the point where they could make a statement. They also wanted to explore all possible explanations for the lieutenant's actions. It was not as if Steve was a flight risk. In fact neither officer could see anything to be gained from what they considered to be a premature arrest. Apart, of course, from the guarantee of maximum publicity for Ms Gray.  
  
Still it had not been left to them to decide, it had merely fallen to them to come down and issue the warrant. A task for which they were both sure they did not need an escort, nor a press conference. They both did their best to hang back as Sandra Gray stepped into the limelight.  
  
  
  
Jesse had asked to be informed of the arrival of either of the IA officers and or the assistant DA at the hospital. He arrived in the lobby to catch part of Ms Gray's interview.  
  
"It seems clear to the district attorney's office that there are charges to answer," she was saying. "If, as many people already believe, lieutenant Sloan's actions precipitated this tragedy, then of course he must be brought to account for those actions."  
  
"Do you believe that the lieutenant is to blame?" A young female reporter asked, hoping to get a useable sound bite for her trouble.  
  
Sandra Gray looked deliberately thoughtful for a moment. "We certainly have evidence that points in that direction," she said, an answer of yes without actually saying the word. Then she added "but as to guilt or innocence that is up to the courts to decide. I can merely present them with the evidence." A cleverly worded response so that she could not be accused of encouraging bias.  
  
Jesse watched and once again experienced anger and betrayal. It was not now just the media that were against his friend, but the very establishment that he worked so hard to be a part of. The justice system that he had served loyally for more than twenty years, that he had risked his life for and had almost died for, was now turning against him. In the same way that it had turned against his father only a couple of years ago. They had all fought back from that injustice although it had been a long hard path back to credibility, but in that situation Mark had at least been sure of his own innocence and still it had nearly destroyed him. Did Steve have the strength to fight against a system he believed in so strongly, more importantly, would he want to?  
  
Trying to shake these negative thoughts, Jesse made his way back up to the third floor where Steve's room was. He needed to ensure that he intercepted the IA officers and Ms Gray if she decided to join them, although Jesse wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't just going to talk to the press and then leave.  
  
He had been waiting for about fifteen minutes when the elevator doors opened to reveal the assistant DA along with Stiles and Mason. He remained by the nurses station and waited for their approach, waiting for them to introduce themselves to the nurse on duty and request to be shown to Steve's room before moving forward to introduce himself. "I'm Dr. Travis, Lieutenant Sloan's Doctor," he said offering his hand, although, after what he had heard this woman say he did not feel like being polite towards her, he recognised the need to not make enemies.  
  
"Assistant DA Sandra Gray," she replied taking the offered hand "and this is.." she began to indicate the officers with her  
  
"We've met," Jesse interrupted and nodded acknowledgment to the two IA officers. "When they came to interview Lieutenant Sloan yesterday," he continued by way of explanation to Ms Gray.  
  
"Well we need to see the Lieutenant again," she said.  
  
"I know I saw part of your interview with the press downstairs," Jesse said, trying hard to keep his tone neutral.  
  
"Then you will know that we are here on official business, if you could escort us to the Lieutenant's room we'll try to make this as painless as possible."  
  
Jesse bit back the reply that was half formed on his lips, how could she hope to make what she was doing to his friend painless? She was going to have him arrested and charged with causing the deaths of more than a dozen people, not because it was necessary at this stage but because it suited her career. She had no thought at all about what this would do to the man she was accusing and Jesse came very close to pointing this out. "I'm afraid," he said, his voice sounding a little tense as he once again reigned in his anger. "That that won't be possible at the moment."  
  
Sandra Gray's eyes narrowed. "And why not?" she said, her tone developing an icy undercurrent. This did not fit into her plans.  
  
"As you should be aware," Jesse explained, "Lieutenant Sloan was attacked yesterday. The attack resulted in a collapsed lung and caused further damage to the injuries he suffered on Saturday evening. He has been heavily sedated since then to allow his injuries a chance to heal." The tension in his voice eased as he continued his explanation, he was enjoying the opportunity of making this woman wait. "I'm afraid that he won't be conscious and able to receive visitors for several hours yet," he almost smiled as he saw the effect that had on Ms Gray, he could see her frustration building. "And only then once I've had chance to give him a thorough examination and check there are no complications."  
  
Ms Gray considered his explanation. "I understand that you are a friend and business partner of the Lieutenant's as well as his doctor?" She asked  
  
"Yes," Jesse replied, cautiously, unsure where this was going. "That's correct."  
  
"You wouldn't be using your position to try to protect your friend from due process, would you?" She asked coldly "I trust that what you are telling me could be verified by another doctor."  
  
Jesse could not resist biting at this point, "No more than someone would use this situation to generate publicity for themselves to improve their career prospects," he countered with. He had the satisfaction of seeing a slight change in facial expression which indicated his words had hit home. "You can consult with any doctor on staff, they'll tell you the same thing." He added in answer to the second question.  
  
"So when will be able to see him?" It was Ms Gray's turn to sound frustrated.  
  
"I told you, several hours, we need to wait for him to come round from the sedation," Jesse replied. "I can get one of the nurses to call your office if you'd like?" he added, trying to sound helpful and not sarcastic.  
  
"That won't be necessary," she said checking her watch. There was no way she was going to let this doctor control her movements. "I'll be back in exactly four hours, at which time I expect to see Lieutenant Sloan." She turned abruptly and with a curt "Officers," indicating that they should follow her, she headed for the elevators.  
  
The two IA officers who had stood back and just watched the exchange, looking for all the world like they did not want to be there, probably because they didn't, turned and followed.  
  
Jesse watched them leave, relieved that he had won the battle but getting the distinct impression that he had not won the war.  
  
  
  
Steve shifted in the bed, opening his eyes slowly as he gradually became aware of his surroundings. The movement caused a sharp pain and he groaned slightly, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light  
  
Mark stood slowly, almost reluctantly and moved to his side. He spoke softly, "Steve?" realising as his stomach once again did somersaults that he was afraid of how his son may react, but he was even more concerned that he would not react at all.  
  
Steve heard the familiar voice call his name, as he tried to order the tumble of thoughts and sensations from his returning senses. The sharp pain had come from his side and the act of breathing in and out itself was painful. He shifted once more as he turned to look at his father. The glance was brief. He was unable to look him in the eye, instead he focused on the bed as he felt his position being adjusted so that his head was raised.  
  
"Steve," Mark said again trying hard to keep the emotion out of his voice. Taking a deep breath to calm himself as he waited for some sort of acknowledgment.  
  
In that brief glance, Steve had taken in his father's appearance, the deep lines of concern were drawn on his face and Steve knew that he had put them there. He was the only one who could put them there. Each time he was hurt , each time his father went through this, Steve knew that it cut a little deeper into his soul. With the strong bond of love they shared came great joy, but also the potential for great pain.  
  
He knew that he should feel bad about causing his father such pain, knew that he should be able to take strength from the fact that his father was there for him, despite everything that had happened, but somehow he could do neither. The emotional shutdown that had begun the day before, his mind's only way of protecting itself from the emotional onslaught was almost complete. The pain in the eyes of the father who had lost his only child, and held Steve responsible, had been the final straw. Emotional withdrawal the only option as primeval instincts of self-protection cut in.  
  
Now as he stared at the blanket that covered him, he felt the physical pain, but had no emotional control to feel or deal with anything else, his thoughts arrived in a tumbling mass with nothing to order them. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not even sure what he was apologising for.  
  
Mark was partly relieved at the response, at least it was something, but none of the other signs looked good. In the brief glance that Steve had given him, Mark had looked into his son's eyes and had been horrified by what he saw. They were beyond haunted, it was almost as if someone had drained the life from them and left a hollow shell. Mark swallowed sharply and found himself glad that Steve turned away. "What are you sorry for?" Mark asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.  
  
Despite his own confusion, Steve tried to answer. "I.couldn't," he began, his voice as flat and lifeless as his eyes. "I. shouldn't.." but somehow he could not finish the sentences, instead he took the easy option. "I don't know."  
  
"Steve," Mark said trying to get his son to focus. "Do you remember what happened at the clinic?"  
  
There was a long pause. "Yes.. Some of it."  
  
"Can you tell me about it?"  
  
Another pause, "I." he tried hard but his mind screamed at him to ignore the question, to block the pain. "No."  
  
Mark watched the conflict, there was a flicker of something but then the barriers came down again. He sighed heavily and tried a different line. "Do you remember what you told the officers from Internal Affairs?"  
  
"Yes"  
  
Mark took a deep breath, there was no right way or wrong way to do this but it had to be done, maybe it would help to spur Steve into trying to remember or at least relate what he could remember. "Steve," Mark said gently. "I know you blame yourself for this and I don't know why, but because of what you said to those officers and because you can't tell us exactly what happened," he swallowed as he tried to form the next sentence. "they are going to arrest you, because they don't know why you did what you did."  
  
Steve was quiet and Mark was contemplating repeating what he had said, in case he had not heard or had not understood.  
  
"What charge?" he eventually asked  
  
"Manslaughter," Mark replied honestly, he had deliberately not mentioned the charge but there was no point in trying to keep it from him, he would find out soon enough. "Please Steve," Mark's voice took on a pleading tone. "You have to help me fight this for you. You have to try to tell me what happened."  
  
Steve shook his head very slightly. "No," again his voice was barely above a whisper.  
  
His next words despite Mark's renewed resolve to control his emotions almost snapped his heart in two.  
  
"I should have died with the others," he said, still staring straight ahead, "I deserve whatever punishment they decide." Finally he managed to lift his head and make eye contact with his father. His mouth formed the next words but there was no breath behind them. "I'm sorry," he barely whispered as the conversation came full circle, and then he looked away again, dropping his head back on the pillow.  
  
Mark did not know what else to say, he stood for several minutes bringing his own emotions back under control, determined to remember what Dr. Carter had told him, that Steve was just reacting to the situation, that they would be able to help him. Reminding himself that once they had solved the puzzle, with or without Steve's help, they would be able to clear him, but even though logic told him that all of this was true, it was a real fight to not let his emotions get the better of him once more. "Whatever happened Steve, you don't deserve to go through this." He said, hoping that some of his words would get through. "I know you were only trying to help and you have nothing to be sorry for." Having said what he needed to say, he went to get Jesse to check on Steve's physical condition and to talk over the conversation himself with Dr. Carter.  
  
  
  
At exactly five thirty, four hours after her conversation with Jesse, Assistant DA Sandra Gray arrived back at Community General this time with a much bigger entourage. She arrived at the nurses station on the third floor and asked that Dr. Travis be paged immediately.  
  
As Jesse approached the nurses station he did not like what he saw. He swallowed.  
  
Sandra Gray stepped forward triumphantly. "Ah Dr. Travis, I have here the necessary warrants and paperwork to take Lieutenant Sloan into custody. I've arranged for a transfer to USC medical Center. I think you'll find everything is in order."  
  
"But," Jesse started to protest.  
  
"And don't try to argue that he is in no condition to be moved, I have checked with two independent consultants and I'm prepared to get them down here to go over the lieutenant's medical records if you insist"  
  
Jesse stared at her. "This is pointless, we'll be able to arrange bail and get him out of there and you will be subjecting a very sick man to two unnecessary hospital transfers."  
  
"I'm sure you will be able to arrange bail tomorrow morning," she replied, gloatingly, "but until then Lieutenant Sloan is going to be a guest of the LA county jail ward."  
  
Jesse listened incredulously, she had arranged this deliberately, instead of waiting for the morning for any transfer, so that they would not have the opportunity to get him out until the next day, almost certainly because he had spoilt her plans to serve the warrant earlier. The sheer callousness astounded him  
  
Pausing only to ensure that the nurse paged Mark and Dr. Carter and explained the situation, Jesse accompanied them to Steve's room but could do nothing to stop them as they formally charged Steve and then transferred him to the gurney ready for his journey to another hospital. It was almost like he was watching the whole thing through a haze.  
  
By the time Mark and Dr. Carter came rushing into the room Steve was gone. 


	10. Progress?

Part 10 Progress?  
  
Jesse was already sitting dejectedly on the empty bed as Mark entered, despite the old doctor being nearly twice her age, Dr. Carter had had difficulty in keeping up with him as they made the journey from her office. He ran into his son's room and came to such an abrupt stop, that she almost ran into him, as she trailed in behind.  
  
Mark's eyes were slightly wild, his expression panicked as he took in the scene. "Jess?" He asked as the young doctor's eyes met his.  
  
"I'm sorry Mark," he began, his own distress at the latest turn of events clear in his voice. "There was nothing I could do to stop her, the assistant DA, Sandra Gray, she came back," he explained. "Only this time she brought transfer papers and an ambulance crew, as well as the officers from IA with her. She had already cleared all of the paperwork through before she came up. If I'd known what she was going to do."  
  
Mark was trying to control the rapidly changing emotions which accompanied the latest shock of finding his son gone. His mind was in overdrive and still he hadn't caught everything that Jesse was saying. Not that he needed to, the guilt and frustration that the young doctor felt at his inability to do anything, resonating with his own, "It's all right Jess, I know you did your best to stop them," he said trying to use a reassuring tone, but the heavy sigh that accompanied his speech meant it lost some of it's effect.  
  
Mark knew that they could not have missed Steve by more than a minute, in fact, although he did not know it, the doors to the elevator carrying Steve down, had closed only moments before the doors on the one he had traveled in had opened. Knowing that he would still be in the hospital, Mark was very tempted to go after them and try to stop them himself, but there was something in Jesse's manner that told him it would be pointless. If there had been some way to stop them then Jesse would have found it. Chasing after them now and creating a scene, especially if it only resulted in a short delay and Steve had to go anyway, would only cause his son further distress and there was no telling what damage this latest action had already done, without making it worse.  
  
Mark dropped heavily into a chair.  
  
Dr. Carter looked sympathetically at her two troubled colleagues and couldn't help but feel that fate was conspiring against them. After Mark's emotional collapse the day before, she was deeply concerned that this rapidly downward spiral of events could, despite his obvious resilience, prove too much for him and, as for the effect it would have on Steve, any one of the events, starting with what had happened on Saturday evening, up to his current arrest, could have led to him needing her help, taken collectively and knowing his personality, she was beginning to wonder if she would be able to help him at all. His world was slowly collapsing in around him, since his work was an important part of who he was, his journey from law officer to prisoner had left him in such a vulnerable state, it could truly break him.  
  
"Why did they decide to take him into custody?" She asked, looking at Jesse. "Surely it would have made more sense to keep him here, since he is very likely to be released."  
  
Jesse looked at her and was very tempted to give his own opinion, that it was sheer spite on the part of the assistant DA because she was unable to serve her warrant earlier, but he did not want to further upset Mark and knowledge of such a willful act, carried out specifically to cause Steve distress would, he knew, do just that. So he shrugged. "I guess she's just doing her job, she doesn't know us, doesn't know Steve, to her its just another case." Something told him that there was little truth in his words but at least they seemed to satisfy Dr. Carter.  
  
Mark stood, "I'm going to call my lawyer, we have to get Steve back," and he made a move towards the door.  
  
"Mark," Jesse called him back, he paused and turned to face his young friend. "It's late," Jesse said, his tone gentle but firm. "He won't be able to do anything about it until morning now." Jesse did not want him to build false hopes, the collapse of which would only add to the growing burden of negative emotions.  
  
"But." Mark began to reply.  
  
"And even if we could, then it wouldn't be good for him," Jesse hurried on, not giving Mark the chance to protest. "Two hospital transfers within a couple of hours, in his current state, would put a lot of stress on his system." He paused allowing Mark to think about what he was saying. "I know that neither of us may like it, but once he's settled he would probably be better left at USC, for tonight at least."  
  
Mark considered it, he could see the logic of what Jesse was saying, knew that it made some sense and also knew that the young doctor was trying to make any possible disappointment at being unable to secure his son's release until morning, somewhat easier to bear, but logic was not in control. "But Jess," he said, tears brimming in his eyes, "he's all alone, I can't just leave him, to face this alone, " his voice caught with emotion as he added, "I have to try." And without waiting for the young doctor to respond, he turned and left the room.  
  
Jesse turned to look at a concerned Dr. Carter, "Don't worry, I'll look after him," he said and followed Mark from the room.  
  
Dr. Carter sighed, she always did her utmost to maintain her clinical detachment, becoming emotionally involved with patients in her profession could be fatal to a career, but she liked the Sloan's. Steve was one of her success stories, and one of the nicest men of around her own age that she had ever met. In fact, had they met under other circumstances, then she would have liked to have been his friend, maybe more. Mark Sloan was a true gentleman from the old school, always with a friendly word and a need to help others. Neither of these kind and gentle men deserved what was happening to them and she was having difficulty maintaining a professional perspective. She took one last look at the empty bed before heading back to her office. One thing that she could do, would be to call her colleague at USC and try to ensure that Steve received appropriate care.  
  
  
  
Nathan had spent the early part of the afternoon waiting for, and then talking to, the doctors who were treating the only two other victims who were still alive, both were in a critical but stable condition, neither doctor could, however, give him any idea when he would be able to talk to them. If they both continued to make improvements then it was still going to be days rather than hours before they were awake and even then, both doctors were at pains to point out, they may well not remember the traumatic events that had put them there.  
  
Having had little luck with the possible witnesses, he made his way up to the pathology lab to see if Amanda had anything new. She now had the results back from ballistics and all of the blood tests she had run. She was adding the finishing touches to her final reports before filing them.  
  
She smiled at him as he entered.  
  
"How's it going?" He asked.  
  
"I've just finished the final reports but I'm afraid there's nothing new," she said, in a disheartened tone. "The extra blood tests I ran on the gunman came back with nothing. If he was on anything then it's new to me, there's not so much as an aspirin in his system. I also double checked for any medical reason why he might have gone crazy but there was nothing there either, no elevated hormonal levels, no evidence of trauma or disease. Whatever the explanation for his behavior, it wasn't anything physical."  
  
Nathan sighed, sitting down opposite, shaking his head. "The more we find out the less sense any of this makes."  
  
"Tell me about it," she replied closing up the file she had just finished and picking up the last one. She opened it up. "Dammit," she muttered barely audibly. Amanda was not one to give in to frustration easily but she was so unused to making mistakes and she was so used to having things neatly finished and ordered, that she could not help both the frustration and annoyance with herself that resulted, as she realised that she could not close up this last report, as she did not yet have the ballistics report back on the bullet that had been misplaced. On seeing Nathan's curious expression she explained.  
  
". So I can't file this until I receive the ballistics report," she said, looking at her watch, "and I can't see them sending it over until morning now," she added, the frustration evident.  
  
Nathan looked at his own watch, "If it means that much to you, I could make it over there now and pick it up, I should just make it before they close up for the night." He offered.  
  
Amanda considered it, there was no real necessity to go chasing across town for a report, especially not one that was likely to tell them nothing new. On the other hand, it would mean that she could close this last file, and she would not have to keep being reminded of her own mistake in losing the bullet in the first place.  
  
She smiled at him once more. "OK but I'm coming with you. My shift is just about over and I could do with getting out of this place for a while."  
  
  
  
Steve stared ahead blankly. Despite his father's warning, the arrival of the IA officers accompanied by the assistant DA had seemed like an unreal event, part of a nightmare dream sequence from which he would eventually awaken. Everyone had seemed to be far away and moving slowly in a reality that was blurred at the edges. Then Lieutenant Stiles had spoken, "Steven Sloan I am placing you under arrest for." and the room had shot into a startling clarity, movement once again at normal speed as an icy chill gripped his spine. In this world of contrasts, the sudden normality of perspective, making it seem more surreal.  
  
He had listened as Stiles had continued first with the charges and then with his Miranda rights, words that Steve knew as well as his own name, and he had answered a whispered "yes" when asked if he understood, but a part of him yelled out "No" inside his head. The part of him that knew there was no longer any sense to his world, that it was all beyond his ability to understand.  
  
Then it all faded out again into a haze of movement and pain. He was aware that he had broken out in a sweat but at the same time shivered with cold. At one point he was sure that he saw his friend Jesse standing and watching silently, and he tried to reach out to him, to ask him what was happening, but somehow his muscles, his voice, would not respond and when he looked again Jesse had left, or was it he that was moving? He was no longer sure of anything. As his system tried to cope with this latest shock, his confusion mounted.  
  
By the time he left the hospital, his senses had once more cut off from the outside. He was completely oblivious of the flashes and shouts from the assembled press pack as they tried to film or photograph Steve's arrest for the next headline. Thankfully, security was still managing to keep them back so they only had distance shots and not the truly intrusive images of Steve's distress that they desired.  
  
  
  
The assistant DA, however, did her best to allay any disappointment they might have had, positioning herself perfectly and just waiting for the ambulance doors to close before moving out into the glare of the hungry press. Her second interview of the day began, as she had planned, with the image of the ambulance carrying Steve into custody, clearly in the background. In her element as the attention of the media once more focused on her, she began to take questions.  
  
  
  
Jesse sat and watched Mark talking into the phone in his office. He had been speaking for the last twenty minutes, the first fifteen had been spent explaining the situation in detail to his lawyer, John Parkes, then the last few minutes he had been listening, making the odd comment in reply. His tone and demeanor had always been serious, but Jesse could see first the dejection and then the resignation creeping in, as the sighs that accompanied each reply became heavier. Mark thanked the lawyer for his help and then hung up.  
  
It was several seconds, but it seemed like longer, before he spoke. "You were right." He looked up at Jesse. "John said that there is nothing he can do until morning now, but he's going to get on it first thing."  
  
There was a longer pause now as the two friends sat lost in their own thoughts, with no clear course of action as to what they should do next. Jesse risked a glance over at his old friend. He did not want Mark to think that he was watching him, but he was still concerned after his reactions of the previous day. Mark seemed, however, to be handling things much better at the moment. The only outward signs of any inner turmoil were the deeper lines etched in his forehead and the slight droop to his shoulders that under normal circumstances would not have been there..  
  
Mark knew that he did not want to go home to the beach house, not whilst Steve was unable to be there, he also knew that he did not want to just sit around the hospital. At the moment either place just made his enforced separation from his son seem worse. As well as considering where he wanted to be, he also considered what he wanted to do. Sitting around brooding would not help, he had to get this mystery solved. He thought back to the file he had been reading in Steve's room. In the back of his mind all of the little anomalies were starting to take the form of an idea.. He stood up sharply. "Come on there are some files I left in Steve's room," he said decisively, moving toward the door. "And then I need you to see if you can get in touch with Nathan for me."  
  
Jesse did his best to hide the simultaneous shock and encouragement that Mark's sudden change of attitude caused. He recognised the look in Mark's eyes from previous cases, Mark had noticed something and more often than not, that look led to a vital clue. He stood and quickly followed his friend from the room, grateful for the action amidst an increasingly gloomy atmosphere.  
  
  
  
Nathan and Amanda waited patiently whilst the clerk searched for the appropriate report for them. The expression on the young woman's face told them that they were going to be disappointed, before she opened her mouth.  
  
"I'm sorry but I'm afraid we don't have the report here any more," she said apologetically. "A request came direct from the DA's office, to have all copies forwarded over there as soon as we had them ready. They were all sent at about 4 o'clock."  
  
"But surely you must have your own copy on file here," Amanda said, "A Photostat of that will do, I just need to finish up my report."  
  
The young woman looked a little embarrassed. "Yes, there should be a copy but I'm afraid that I can't find it at the moment. It.er . doesn't seem to have reached the file system yet."  
  
Amanda tried to control her temper as her frustration grew, she was so organised herself, she hated it when others were not, especially if they affected her work. Her self control was helped, however, as she remembered that she would not be here if the bullet had been sent with the others when it should have been, and that was her error. "Well can I speak to the person who tested it then?" She asked through slightly gritted teeth, forcing a smile.  
  
"I'm afraid that was Mark Deakin and he's gone home for the day, in fact he's taken a couple of days leave so we don't expect him back until Thursday," the woman said, watching Amanda carefully. "Your best bet is to try to get the DA's office to fax you over a copy," she hurriedly continued as she saw the fire building in Amanda's eyes.  
  
Nathan decided to intercede at this point, before Amanda's frustration got the better of her and she took it out on the young woman in front of her. "Thank you, we'll do just that," he said, guiding Amanda away from the desk.  
  
They were heading back to the hospital, Amanda still frustrated at both the wasted journey and the fact that she would not be able to finish her report, when Nathan took the call from Jesse. He listened carefully to the request and agreed to sort it out. Thirty minutes later, he was pulling up into the drive of the Hillside clinic. Jesse's convertible was already there, both he and Mark still sitting inside. He parked and climbed out, Amanda following him as Mark and Jesse joined them.  
  
They all stared at the innocent looking white building, which had been the scene of such tragedy only a few days before. Lost for a moment in their memories of that evening.  
  
Nathan spoke first. "Care to tell me what this is all about?" He addressed his question to Mark.  
  
"I'm not a hundred per cent sure but there are several things that just don't add up," Mark replied, staring once again at the building, trying to repress his memories of that night so that he would be able to go inside. "But I need to get a look inside first and check a few things out." He looked back at Nathan. "Did you manage to get hold of the officers who were first on the scene?"  
  
"Yes," Nathan replied, looking at his watch. "They should be here any minute."  
  
As if on cue a black and white pulled into the lot and parked up beside them. Two officers climbed out, one a female, sergeant Thompson, mid thirties, the other a younger male, officer Dalton, late twenties. They walked over, the sergeant spoke. "Detective Turner, we got a message that you wanted to meet us here."  
  
"Yes," Nathan replied, "I believe you know Dr. Sloan and Dr. Bentley and this is a colleague of theirs Dr. Travis." Nods were exchanged during the introductions. "We've, that is, Dr. Sloan has some questions for you about what happened that night."  
  
Both officers had come across Dr. Sloan and Dr. Bentley in their official capacities before and both of them had had occasion to talk to and work with Steve. Sergeant Thompson nodded, "I don't relish going back inside there." She gestured towards the clinic. "But anything we can do to help." She softened her tone and looked directly at Mark. "I want you to know that we think it's terrible what they're doing to Steve," she said sincerely. "He's a good cop."  
  
"Thank you," Mark said, knowing that the words were meant kindly, but they caused a momentary stab of pain as he was once more reminded of the plight of his son. He quickly repressed the thoughts and feelings so that he could once more focus on the task at hand. He pointed back at the building. "I know that this will be difficult for you but I need you to go back in there and show me, as well as you can remember, the position that you found things in that night." He watched her as she glanced at the building, a mixture of emotions crossing her face.  
  
She nodded. "If you think it will help," she said and together they moved towards the building.  
  
Not wishing to crowd Mark but curious about his actions, the others followed a few feet back.  
  
As officer Thompson moved the yellow crime scene tape out of the way and opened the door, she had the key, she had stopped by the station to pick it up before coming over, she took the time to order her thoughts, like almost everyone who had seen it, the massacre had had a deep emotional effect on her. The department had offered extra counseling sessions to everyone who had been there and she had considered accepting, she had seen some terrible things in her time on the force but this was amongst the worst. She took a deep breath, doing her best to calm the remembered emotion, stopping momentarily before moving inside.  
  
"OK, you were here yourself later, so I don't need to tell you the position of most of the bodies, they hadn't moved. When we came in Lieutenant Sloan was kneeling over there." She pointed to one side of the room.  
  
"Can you show me exactly," Mark said, his voice a little tighter than usual as he struggled to maintain control on his own emotions, as memories of that night flooded back.  
  
Officer Thompson moved into the room and went to stand in the position she had found Steve. "He was about here I think," she said, looking around and trying to picture the scene, "Yes, here. He was shivering and we were worried about him suffering from shock. That's when I sent Dalton to the car to call it in and bring back a blanket. I.er." She hesitated, this whole thing was difficult, not least explaining to a father the state they had found his son in. "Couldn't get much sense out of the Lieutenant," she continued. "So I began to check the other victims, see if any of them were still alive." . "Did you notice anything else, any noises, draughts, anything at all?" Mark asked.  
  
Officer Thompson thought about it for a few moments. "No, I'm sorry, I was focused on the victims."  
  
"That's OK," Mark said, "It was a longshot." He moved across the floor. "The gunman, Robert Hughes, his body was found here, wasn't it?" he said standing on one of the many darkened stains on the carpet.  
  
Officer Thompson nodded. "That's right."  
  
"Well, thank you officer," Mark said, "You've been a big help and I do appreciate it."  
  
Officer Thompson seemed a little surprised that that was all he wanted to ask but she took the thanks at face value. "Is that all you need?"  
  
"Yes, thank you again." Mark replied his attention already focused on the floor around where he stood.  
  
As the officers left Nathan added his thanks to Mark's, he took the key from her so that he could lock up once they had finished.  
  
Meanwhile Mark had continued his perusal of the area around where Hughes' body had been found. "Amanda," he called out. "Could you come and look at this."  
  
Nathan exchanged a look with Jesse as he held the door open for the two officers to leave and then they both went to see what it was that Mark wanted Amanda to look at.  
  
They didn't catch what Mark had said to her but she was kneeling down examining a stain on the carpet as they got there. "I see what you mean," she said, first looking behind her and then moving to look at an area a little further towards the wall.  
  
"Have you got an evidence bag on you," Mark asked as Nathan arrived.  
  
"Sure," he replied, searching through his pockets. "What have you got?" He asked, curious as to what they thought they had found in a place which had already been so meticulously searched.  
  
"A blood stain," Mark said.  
  
Nathan's expression changed to one of puzzlement, one thing this room was not short of was blood stains.  
  
"Nowhere near where any of the bodies were found," Mark explained, "and what's more, unless I miss my guess, I don't think that the blood will match up with any of the victims."  
  
"You mean you think that there was someone else here that night?" Jesse asked.  
  
Mark had knelt down and was collecting some of the material on the carpet into the evidence bag, Amanda was still studying the area closely. He stopped and looked up from what he was doing. "That is exactly what I mean," he said. 


	11. Journey

Part 11 Journey  
  
The paramedic did his best to make his patient comfortable as he secured him into the back of the ambulance. He tried asking him a couple of questions, wanting to know if he needed pain relief, but he got no response. The guy didn't even seem to know that he was there. So he concentrated on the mechanical tasks of securing the chest drain and the drip.  
  
The press, as they had emerged from the hospital elevators, had somewhat taken him by surprise. He had known that their patient was big news at the moment, he would have had to have been deaf and blind for the last few days not to have noticed, but somehow it had never occurred to him that they would be photographing and filming this transfer. The bright flashes and shouts had not, however seemed to disturb the patient. He had remained as he was now, awake but completely oblivious to the world around him.  
  
As the ambulance began to move Brian noticed that his patient was wincing each time they went over a bump in the road or turned a sharp corner. He checked his chart and decided to give him some morphine. Whatever the guy had done he didn't deserve to be in that much pain.  
  
As the injection began to take effect he studied his patient closely. Lieutenant Steven Sloan, did not look much like the file photographs of a handsome, confident police officer that the reports had used, his face was bruised and gaunt, his skin a sickly grey colour. He checked the chart again, there had been nothing in the press reports, not that he remembered seeing or reading anyway, that indicated how badly injured the man had been, as far as he could tell from the notes, they had almost lost him twice, but any injuries had only received passing comment apart from when his own doctor, a doctor Travis had spoken. The media seemed more interested in attaching blame to the poor guy and now, with his arrest, extracting some sort of punishment.  
  
As Brian stared at the pale complexion and haunted unseeing eyes, he couldn't help but feel that whatever punishment, in the name of justice, society might feel was being served by locking this man up, it was nothing compared to that which he was inflicting on himself. He sighed and put the chart down, moving to check his vitals as Steve drifted into a drug induced sleep.  
  
  
  
Mark was about to elaborate a little when a noise from the door, the sound of a key being turned in the lock, made them all turn and look. They all watched as a man pushed the door opened and entered, at first oblivious to their presence and then stopping open mouthed as he looked up to see four people watching him, Dr. Michael Evans did a double take. "Oh. I..er.." he stuttered, "I..I.. didn't expect their to be anyone here.. I ..came to collect some files, Captain Newman said that it would be all right."  
  
Mark stood to his full height and for some reason, seniority? Natural leadership? the others, even Nathan, deferred to him to lead the questions. Amanda and Nathan both knew who the man was but neither Jesse or Mark had met him before. Mark inferred from what he had said that this was the owner of the clinic.  
  
"That's all right," Mark said, stepping forwards, "I'm Dr. Mark Sloan and you must be Dr. Evans." He held out his hand.  
  
Dr. Evans moved to meet him. "Dr. Sloan," he returned the greeting, shaking Mark's hand, then his expression changed as his brain identified the name. "The same Dr. Sloan whose son."  
  
".Lieutenant Sloan was here on Saturday night," Mark completed for him, not wanting to wait for this man to complete his own version of that sentence. "Yes," Mark continued, "I work as a consultant for the LAPD." He explained, "and I'm here with Detective Turner and Doctors Bentley and Travis," he indicated his colleagues in turn. "To try to figure out exactly what happened."  
  
"Oh," was all Dr. Evans could think of to say.  
  
Mark turned back to face him, "I know all of this must be very difficult for you," he continued compassionately. "I can only imagine how it must feel to lose so many patients under such tragic circumstances. You have my deepest sympathies."  
  
"Thank you." the doctor hesitated searching for the right words, "I don't think that what happened has really sunk in yet." He looked around the room at the splattered dark stains which had mostly dried to a rusty brown colour. He swallowed. "Although coming here, seeing this.Oh God"  
  
For a moment Mark thought that the man might pass out as the colour drained from his face.  
  
"I think you'd better sit down Doctor," Mark said, looking round, but Nathan was way ahead of him and was already bringing a chair over. Amanda disappeared and returned a moment later with a glass of water which she handed to the doctor, who had gratefully accepted the seat.  
  
"I'm sorry," Dr. Evans apologised, taking a sip from the glass.  
  
"Nothing to apologise for," Mark said, watching the man carefully.  
  
"I didn't mean to interrupt anything," he said, his tone still apologetic.  
  
Mark moved to get himself a chair and brought it over, he wanted to talk to the doctor anyway and this was too good an opportunity to pass up. To do that, however, he needed to be on eye level, hence the chair.  
  
As he passed Nathan, he stopped and said something to the young detective in hushed tones before heading back to sit by the clinic's owner  
  
Nathan indicated to Jesse and Amanda as subtly as he could that they should leave as Mark sat down.  
  
"How are you feeling now?" he asked  
  
Dr. Evans was interested in Mark's companions and stared past him without answering.  
  
"Dr. Evans," Mark said, slightly more sharply than he wanted. It was enough to jerk the doctors attention back to him. "I asked how you were feeling?"  
  
"Oh I'm..er.. fine," he said distractedly looking back at the others as they headed for the back of the building. He gestured towards them. "If you want to join your colleagues, like I say, I don't want to interrupt anything."  
  
Mark glanced behind him. "I'm sure they can manage without me," he answered, "besides you look like you could do with the company."  
  
"Thanks," Dr. Evans replied but for a moment he looked distinctly uncomfortable as he sat back in the chair.  
  
"The last few days must have been quite traumatic.." Mark began managing to keep his tone affable and not dwell on his own traumatic time.  
  
Mark spent the next twenty minutes talking, at first, taking an interest in how the doctor was dealing with the aftermath of the events in the clinic, but then gently and subtly steering the conversation round so that he could try to get some information. His initial intention had been to get a general impression of the clinic and its patients, to learn whether there was any specific reason why it might have been targeted for a robbery, but, as the conversation went on, he found himself forming an impression not of the clinic but of Dr. Michael Evans.  
  
He was not sure what it was that gave the man away. There was nothing specific in his answers,. His reactions were those of someone who was shocked and deeply saddened by the events that had occurred. Mark couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was, but the more they talked, the more sure he was that Dr. Evans was hiding something. He was, in some way, involved in what had happened.  
  
This had happened to Mark before and he could rarely identify how he knew when someone wasn't telling the truth. In most cases that he worked on, there was some clue that led them to the killer and without that clue they would never have found out who it was, but, very occasionally, Mark just knew.  
  
He could put it down to intuition or instinct or perhaps just the fact that he was more astute than most and was picking up on the more subtle signals of guilt or deceit, but when he formed these impressions he was rarely wrong. Solving the case just came down to finding evidence to back up what he knew.  
  
On this occasion it would be a little more involved. As he continued the conversation, he allowed his mind to work, he needed to figure out whether the doctor was just involved in the robbery or had he been in some way responsible for the shootings? Was he the other person who was there that night? There were so many questions to answer, Mark's mind raced as he tried to put everything together and keep the conversation going. The task was made doubly difficult because he knew that he could not allow Dr. Evans to realise that he was suspicious. That would end any cooperation that he might otherwise unwittingly give.  
  
At the back of Mark's mind as they talked there was a little voice trying to make things even harder for him, telling him as he talked that if this man was involved, then he was, at least in part, responsible for what was happening to his son. Mark ignored this voice, because listening to it would only make him extremely angry with the man who sat opposite him and anger was not an emotion he could afford right now. So he pushed the thought back and continued his 'chat'  
  
  
  
It was another twenty minutes before Mark went to meet the others outside. Dr. Evans had eventually stood and excused himself to get his files, but far from taking the less than subtle hint, Mark had followed him and continued to ask perfectly affable, but non the less probing questions about Dr. Evans movements on Saturday night. Establishing a time scale of events that had kept the man from the clinic.  
  
Mark looked thoughtful as he approached the trio who stood at the edge of the lot by some bushes. It was clear that they had found something by Jesse's barely contained enthusiasm. He began to speak before Mark even reached them.  
  
"You were right Mark. It definitely looks like there was someone else here." he said animatedly. When he got no response he tried again "Mark?"  
  
The old doctor looked across at him. "Oh sorry Jess, I was miles away what did you say."  
  
The lack of immediate response did nothing to quell the young doctor's enthusiasm. "I said, you were right, there are signs that there was someone else here."  
  
Mark immediately became interested, his unexpected intuitions about Dr. Evans could wait. He focused his mind on what the others had found out.  
  
"We followed the route that Hughes took when he broke in, in reverse. The police had initially assumed that he came in through the lot over there." Jesse pointed to a gap in the houses. "Since there are a number of houses and a street giving easy access. There were no vehicles around, so nobody considered that he might have come up from PCH, but if you go through the bushes here," As Jesse was talking he led Mark through to the point he was talking about. "Then we found clear signs that someone has gone both up and down the bank. A car stopped at the bottom with it's hood up probably wouldn't have drawn any attention."  
  
"So it looks like you were spot on," Nathan said as they joined him near some soft earth that had prints in it. "There was an accomplice."  
  
"And you were right about him being injured too," Amanda added, pointing at a brown stain on the leaves of a bush. "This is definitely blood, I've got a sample for us to test."  
  
"So are you going to tell us how you knew?" Jesse asked.  
  
  
  
The traffic was heavy, it was right in the middle of rush hour, so the ambulance journey lasted nearly an hour. Steve drifted in and out of consciousness for most of it but it was only as they neared the hospital that Steve woke in a fully lucid state. He looked around momentarily confused, trying to focus on where he was and why he was there.  
  
"What? Where..?" he muttered looking at the young paramedic.  
  
Brian moved over to his side. "It's OK Mr. Sloan, you're in an ambulance," he said gently, "You're being transferred to USC medical center remember?"  
  
Steve tried to arrange his confused thoughts. Finally he looked the young man in the eye. "Jail ward right?" It was half statement, half question.  
  
"That's right," Brian answered.  
  
Steve shook his head. For the first time since that night, he was managing to arrange events in his mind without collapsing under the weight of emotion. In his more lucid moments, he had expected to lose his badge after what had happened, but not this. He had only tried to help those people. He had tried to save them, he couldn't possibly have known... and that was where his moment of positive thinking was buried once more under the horror and pain, as the images of that night once more filled his vision.  
  
Brian watched as the spark of recognition left Steve's eyes to be replaced with tears that were not shed, and once more he felt sorry for this man, who had already been through so much and still had more to face. As the ambulance drew up outside the hospital. Steve drifted off once more. 


	12. Journey's end or just begun

Part 12 Journey's end. or just begun?  
  
The abrupt movement of the gurney as it was pulled out of the ambulance woke Steve again. The combination of drugs and pain, of reality and dreams melding into one as his mind once more tried to make some sort of sense of what was happening. Trying to stabilise itself in some form of reality that could be understood. Steve blinked and looked at the young paramedic who smiled down at him. It was to be the last smile that he saw for a while.  
  
"Hey welcome back," Brian said, noticing once more that there was some form of clarity, of understanding in Steve's eyes. "Do you remember where you are?"  
  
Steve nodded, at the moment everything was painfully clear.  
  
"OK," Brian said softly. He had stopped the gurney so that he could talk to his patient. "We've arrived at the medical center and I'm going to transfer you up to the ward now." He explained, "How are you feeling?" He asked, waving away for the moment the orderlies who had come to help move him up to the ward.  
  
It was a loaded question, one that Steve couldn't begin to answer emotionally. Even if he could find the words to express how he felt at that moment, in five minutes the answer would be entirely different, but Steve looked into the concerned eyes of this stranger and recognised the genuine compassion. It was a quality he had often seen in his father and his two closest friends, Amanda and Jesse. A concern for their fellow human beings which could only come through empathy, that he saw it here, now, from this stranger, gave Steve a deep sense of comfort, penetrating through some of the barriers he was building. He did his best to answer. "I.. it still hurts to breath," he said quietly, despite the painkillers the pain from his ribs still radiated out each time his chest moved..  
  
Brian was unaware how significant it was that he had got Steve to talk, to prevent him withdrawing completely, and pull him one step back from the total collapse that he was perched on the brink of . "I'll let them know up on the ward," he said, the tone still one of concern. There was nothing else he could give him, he dare not give him any more morphine, not for a while at least. "They'll be able to give you something when you get up there," he said. There was a pause whilst the young man searched desperately for something else to say, some way to give the man in front of him some sort of comfort, some strength to face the next few hours as his incarceration began. "Listen," he finally said, holding Steve's gaze, "Whatever happens, whatever people say, just remember that you know the truth."  
  
Steve stared at him for a moment, then nodded slightly again. "Thanks," he said, recognising the comment for what it was, an attempt to help. His mind filed away this brief encounter, a positive experience to begin to balance some of the many negative ones.  
  
One of the orderlies coughed, he was getting impatient, he needed to get this prisoner moved, then he was scheduled to take someone to the OR and then another patient to X-ray. He didn't have time to wait for chit chat.  
  
Brian took the clipboard off him and signed the transfer papers as the other orderly moved round to the end of the gurney ready to begin pushing it. The guard who had traveled silently with the prisoner from Community General moved up behind him.  
  
The orderly waited impatiently as Brian wrote a note about Steve's continuing pain on his chart and then, almost snatching it from him, moved to the other end of the gurney and began to push it away  
  
Brian stood and watched as the gurney carrying his patient rolled away. There was something about the man that gave him an almost instinctive understanding of him. In him he saw so many parts of himself. In the short time that he had been with him, had seen what the events of the past few days had done to him, he had developed a sympathy, an empathy. This was not a reckless, uncaring police officer, more interested in furthering his career than public safety, as the press had made out. This was a man deeply traumatised by what had happened, blaming himself for an incident which, in reality, he had probably had little control over. A man just doing his job. Never again would Brian take what the media said about people at face value, making judgments based on a skewed view of the facts. Seeing this man had made this particular story personal, had humanised the figure that the press had demonised and had forever changed his perceptions of the media and what they said.  
  
As he watched the gurney pushed too fast and roughly over a drain, instead of being lifted, and Steve wince at the resulting pain, he decided that he couldn't let this rough treatment continue. He hurried to catch up. "Hey take it easy, will ya," he addressed the orderly who had taken the papers.  
  
Both orderlies and the guard turned to look at him. "What's it to you?" The first orderly asked.  
  
"He's got some bad injuries," Brian said trying to contain his temper, "any bumps will aggravate them."  
  
"Geez, he's just a prisoner," the orderly replied, annoyed at yet another delay. What was this jumped up cab driver's problem? "A murderer at that." he added, remembering that he had seen this guy in the press in connection with some shooting or other in Malibu.  
  
At this point Brian lost his temper with the man. Was this how he treated all of the patients brought in to the jail ward, as somehow undeserving of basic human kindness, of relief from their pain? "No," he said through gritted teeth, "he's a cop and at worst he's here because he made the wrong judgment call, but at the moment he's innocent until proven guilty or have you forgotten our constitution?'  
  
"But.." the surprised orderly attempted to interrupt.  
  
Brian was having none of it. "And even if he was guilty, that's no reason to treat him any differently from any other patient, from any other person needing help." He barged the man out of the way, taking his place at the end of the gurney. "I'll take him up to the ward. At least then I know that he'll make it in one piece."  
  
"But that's not your.." the orderly attempted once again.  
  
"What," Brian interrupted sharply. "Not my job?" He paused for the briefest of moments but it was still somehow clear that the question was rhetorical. "Well I'm making it my job. If you've got any arguments take it up with your supervisor and I'll explain to him and anyone else who'll listen why I did it." Brian did not waste any more energy on the man, he wasn't worth it, instead he pushed the gurney away, taking care to avoid any bumps and taking it at a much more sedate speed.  
  
Steve watched the exchange impassively, unsure as to why this man was helping him but grateful for it. Somehow the kindness of this stranger once more penetrated through his barriers, and in this small act pulled him another step back from the brink. He relaxed back on the pillows and allowed his thoughts to drift.  
  
  
  
Mark looked at Jesse and the others, not answering his question straight away. He looked up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon. "It's going to get dark soon," he said, "let's take our discussions back to the hospital and , if you don't mind Amanda, honey, do you think you could start running those tests on the blood samples?"  
  
"Sure," Amanda replied, "no problem," She looked at her watch, there hadn't been much chance of seeing her sons again tonight anyway. She had asked her mother to look after them for the next couple of days, knowing that both Mark and Steve needed her on this.  
  
"I'm going to stay here," Nathan said, "I'll get the forensics team down to check on the footprints on the bank and I'll also get a check on any vehicles on the edge of PCH on that night. See what we can come up with."  
  
"All right, we'll see you at the hospital. I have some things of my own to check on," Mark said thoughtfully and he headed back to the car.  
  
Jesse and Amanda followed, wrongly interpreting their mentor's silence as a sign that he was once more worrying about his son. Whilst Mark was definitely still worried about Steve, his mind was occupied elsewhere. He was considering the implications of his conversation with Dr. Evans and allowing his active intellect to make connections with everything else he knew about the case. Amanda sat herself in the back of Jesse's convertible, whilst Mark climbed into the front and they set off back to the familiar territory of Community General. None of them looked back as they once again left the white building behind them.  
  
  
  
Brian took the gurney all the way to the entrance to the jail ward but he did not have the clearance to enter so, reluctantly, he handed control back to the orderly who deliberately pushed it into the door to make a point, Steve couldn't help the slight gasp that escaped as the jolt jarred all of his injuries.  
  
Brian watched helplessly shaking his head at the man's attitude. Once Steve had disappeared through the doors there was nothing more he could do, besides, his colleague whom he'd left waiting down with the ambulance, would be impatient to get home. This was the last call of the day. Brian turned and walked towards the elevators still shaking his head at the injustices of the world.  
  
  
  
Steve lay back on the pillows and watched as the paperwork about him was exchanged and more added as he was processed into the system. He'd filled in similar paperwork a thousand times himself. He spoke quietly only once to confirm his name, the way he was being treated he was surprised that they asked him and didn't just check the tag on his wrist. The rest of the time they spoke about him as though he wasn't there.  
  
"Take him to room 212," the guard said to the orderly. "This one's a cop so we're keeping him away from the rest of the prisoners."  
  
The orderly nodded  
  
"I'll let the doctors know that he's here." He read the notes. "And you'd better put the restraints on him, seems he's a little unstable at the moment. Officer Johnson 'll go down with you."  
  
The orderly grinned, wishing that the soppy paramedic could be there to see what he was going to do.  
  
There were many reasons why people ended up working where they worked. In the prison wing of the hospital, the staff were roughly divided half and half between those who worked there because they thought they could make a difference, out of a sense of some sort of civic duty, and those who worked there because they couldn't get a job anywhere else in the hospital system, because the patients would not put up with how they treated them. Since most of the prisoners behaved in a hostile way, even towards those who were trying to help, staff turnover could be high, so any staff who could stand the working conditions were gratefully accepted.  
  
The porter fell into the second category, he enjoyed the abuse because it gave him the opportunity to give back what he got. In particular he enjoyed putting the restraints on prisoners, it gave him a sense of power to make others so helpless, and invariably working here he got asked to put them on someone at least once per day and, to a man who felt he had little control in the rest of his life it was, tragically, one of his few sources of satisfaction. He had always been a bully even at school, where he had never achieved much, taking instead some warped sense of self worth from intimidating those younger or weaker than himself.  
  
Now as he wheeled Steve to his room and noticed how out of it the man was, he decided that he could have a little fun. The fact that the paramedic had annoyed and humiliated him in front of his colleague, meant that Steve was an even more satisfying target than usual. Arriving at the room, he turned to the guard "It's OK we can take it from here," he said, "I don't think he'll give us any trouble."  
  
The guard looked from the porter to Steve and back again, he figured the guy was right Steve looked totally passive and too weak to do anything, so he shrugged and left.  
  
The porter grinned as the guard left knowing that he might have commented but his fellow porter wouldn't take any notice if he hurt Steve, indifference was the only attitude he had ever shown.  
  
Steve gasped and held his good arm across his chest as though that would somehow protect him from the pain as he was dumped onto the new mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out the waves of pain, then felt his arm grabbed roughly and pulled down to his side as the padded restraint was buckled too tightly around it. Then his ankles received the same treatment.  
  
If the porter had expected some sort of reaction he was disappointed. Steve was long past reacting to how he was being treated. "I'm sorry about this," the porter said coldly, his tone betraying the insincerity of his words, "but it has to be done, we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself," he added coinciding the words with moving Steve's injured arm and pulling it into the restraint. At last a reaction as Steve's face contorted into agony at the movement.  
  
As the mists of pain cleared he stared into the eyes of the man he knew had just deliberately caused it. There was still a strong part of his mind telling him that he was getting what he deserved, that any mistreatment was justified because he merited such punishment. That was the part of his mind that was in control.  
  
More than twenty years of learning how to read people, however, allowed him at some level, to see the porter for what he really was, a small minded bully who enjoyed the suffering of others because it made him feel superior. In the corner of Steve's mind where this thought registered, it triggered a sense of injustice, although it caused him physical pain, mentally he took one more step back from the brink..  
  
He continued to stare at the man who had just hurt him for no reason, his expression betraying not his physical but his mental suffering.  
  
The porter cursed silently, disconcerted by the stare from such haunted eyes and the lack of any other reaction, he completed the transfer of tubes and notes, then hurriedly left the room to move on to his next task.  
  
The doctor and nurse arrived almost immediately. He checked Steve over quickly, it was nearly the end of his shift and he had a hot date to get ready for, so he did not notice the too tight restraints and barely read the paramedics recommendation for stronger pain relief. Had he read Jesse's notes he might have gone for a sedative rather than painkillers and restraints, but he did not take that time, instead he checked Steve's vitals, made out a standard prescription to be filled every four hours, ensured that the chest drain and IV line were properly in place and left as hurriedly as he had arrived.  
  
The nurse remained a little longer to administer the injection of painkiller. Steve felt it the instant it hit his system and gratefully allowed it, along with the sedatives that were still present from earlier in the day, to drag him once more into a drug induced sleep  
  
  
  
Jesse and Mark sat in Amanda's lab and watched her work as she began preparing the samples she had taken for DNA analysis along with samples from all of the other victims and the two other patients who were still clinging on to life. There was some good news on that front, the young woman, Linda Wright, the one whom Mark had treated at the scene, had stabilised to the extent that Jesse expected to be able to transfer her from ICU to a standard room the following morning. Unfortunately it was not looking quite so hopeful for the other patient who remained critical.  
  
"So," Jesse asked, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer "Are you going to explain now?"  
  
Mark looked questioningly across at him.  
  
"What made you think there was someone else in the clinic that night?" he elaborated.  
  
"It was the only way to explain the lack of fingerprints on the weapon," Mark replied, "then when I saw in the reports that Steve had fired three shots, only two of which had hit Hughes, I wondered what had happened to the other bullet. There was no indication that it been found, that's why I wanted to go back to the clinic. It was possible that it was fired into the wall or the ceiling but it was also possible that it wasn't found because it wasn't there any longer."  
  
"So that's why you looked for the blood stains?"  
  
Mark nodded confirmation.  
  
"Yes, but it still doesn't help Steve does it?" Amanda asked looking up from her work. "I mean it makes even less sense that Steve would go into a situation where there were two of them without backup."  
  
"Unless he could only see one of them?" Jesse suggested.  
  
Mark was thoughtful again, "It could be argued," he said quietly. "That that's even more reason why he shouldn't have tried to go in alone." He paused, he was painfully aware that whilst his discoveries would undoubtedly change everyone's perceptions of what had happened, he still did not have enough to help clear Steve, or explain his actions. "There's still more to this." he added.  
  
There was quiet for a while whilst Amanda continued working and Mark debated whether to tell his friend's of his suspicions about Dr. Evans. He decided to wait until he'd had more time to consider it, his mind was still contemplating his intuition, deciding if he had any facts to back it up..  
  
Jesse meanwhile was mentally kicking himself for not noticing what Mark had, it seemed so obvious now. Jesse had always admired Mark's deductive skills but more than that he'd always wanted to emulate them, fascinated by how the older doctor could pick up on seemingly insignificant points from a mass of information, or supply a rational explanation to the seemingly irrational and use it to go on and solve a case. He sighed, wondering if his own deductive skills would ever improve.  
  
"Jess?" Mark asked noting the sigh.  
  
Jesse pulled himself from his musings, "Sorry I was miles away."  
  
Mark looked at his watch, "It's getting late," he noted, "maybe you should go home, get some rest."  
  
Amanda pulled her gloves off. "Well I've done all that I can for this evening. We should get the results in the morning." She looked across at Mark "I guess we could all do with getting some rest."  
  
Mark considered it and the thoughts from earlier returned. He didn't want to go back to the beach house, especially not alone. He knew that if he asked, both of his young companions would volunteer to go with him, but he just could not face the press, whom he knew would be camped on his doorstep. He didn't really want to stay in the hospital either, now that Steve was no longer there, but it seemed the better of the two alternatives. He forced a smile not wanting them to worry "You two go on .I'll. um.."  
  
"Hey Mark, what is it?" Amanda asked, she had known him too long to be fooled easily.  
  
"Nothing, I just thought I'd stay here again tonight."  
  
"Hey," Jesse said, "If you don't want to be alone then I'll come out to the beach house with you." He paused, when he got no response he added, "that's if you'd like."  
  
"It's not that Jess," Mark replied grateful for the offer. "It's the press, I've managed to avoid them so far today by using the service exits from the hospital, but at the house." He let the sentence trail. With only the entrance from PCH by car and from the beach on foot, it would be impossible to avoid prying eyes if they were waiting for you. "I just don't think I could face them right now."  
  
Jesse nodded his understanding, Steve's arrest would have undoubtedly stirred up interest again. "Then come out to my place," Jesse suggested, "It's not quite up to your standards but you're more than welcome and there are no press there."  
  
Mark was tempted but shook his head, "No Jess I couldn't possibly impose on you like that I.."  
  
"Mark," Jesse stopped him his tone sharp, then it softened, "It wouldn't be an imposition, I'd love to have you there." It always amazed him how willing Mark was to help others and yet how reluctant he was to accept it himself.  
  
"But.."  
  
"Go on," Amanda encouraged. "Hanging around here is not going to help anyone."  
  
Mark looked from one to the other and shrugged, "All right," he assented, "your place it is," he said looking at Jesse, "thank you."  
  
  
  
Steve drifted in and out of consciousness, more aware at some times than others, until the medication finally wore off and he could no longer escape from his physical and mental discomfort into sleep. He was now truly alone. Unable to shift to a comfortable position he lay back and closed his eyes, for the briefest of moments he had peace, saw only darkness, but then, like someone flicking a switch on a projector, bright images suddenly assailed his senses. His eyes flew open as he attempted to shut them off, knowing that they led only to pain and death, but it was no use. His eyes refused to focus on the room around him. As the images played on, he began to fall apart once more. The wave of negative emotions that accompanied his memories; grief, despair, horror, guilt, all in overwhelming proportions, washed over him once more. He retreated to that safe place inside his head where they could not reach him, taking a mental step forward.  
  
  
  
Jesse and Mark arrived in Jesse's apartment, having once again managed to avoid the media, slipping away from the hospital via a service entrance. Jesse had stopped to get take out and deposited the packages on the table, moving straight away to get some plates. Once they had eaten, that is, once Jesse had eaten and Mark had picked at his food, they discussed sleeping arrangements.  
  
"I'll be fine on the couch," Mark said as he helped to clear up.  
  
Jesse stopped from what he was doing and looked over at him. "You're kidding right." he said. "Aside from the fact that you're older than me and technically my boss, you're also my guest. If you seriously think that I'm going to sleep in the bed whilst you take the couch then."  
  
"But Jess." Mark interrupted.  
  
"No, you get the bed," Jesse insisted. "What would Steve think of me if he knew I had you staying here sleeping on the couch."  
  
The mention of his son stopped Mark's protests dead as it occurred to Mark that he had no idea what Steve would think of anything at the moment, not with the state he was in the last time he saw him, and since then things had got worse and. The spiral of negative thoughts assaulted his brain like a whirlwind and his expression darkened as he tried once more to bring the emotions that went with them under control.  
  
Jesse noted the change of expression and instantly regretted his words, realising that they had triggered more troubling thoughts about Steve. "Mark.. I'm sorry." He said unsure of what else to say.  
  
Mark snapped himself back, suddenly aware of how fragile his hold on his emotions had become. "It's all right Jess." He looked down at his young friend. "OK I'll take the bed." He acquiesced. "These old bones will be very grateful," he added smiling again, but his eyes still betrayed his sadness.  
  
"Sit down I'll make us some coffee and then change the sheets." Jesse said, trying to change the subject.  
  
"A compromise, I'll make the coffee, you change the sheets." Mark replied.  
  
Jesse nodded, handing over the coffee pot and leaving Mark to get on with it.  
  
  
  
"I'm telling you Mark Sloan could be a big problem," Michael Evans spoke into the payphone receiver, this was one call that he was not going to risk making on any line that could be traced to him.  
  
"What makes you think so?" The voice at the other end asked.  
  
"I followed the tip you gave to me and went back to the clinic. He was there with Detective Turner, that young doctor friend of his, Travis, and the medical examiner. They were searching the place again."  
  
"What could they find that the police haven't looked at already?"  
  
"Oh trust me plenty, they've got a forensic team back there now checking the escape route down on to PCH."  
  
"I see," the voice said ponderously, "Too bad, soon they will know that there was someone else there, but they still have nothing."  
  
Evans wiped his brow, realising that he was sweating more than he should have been. "It gets worse." He licked his lips then swallowed. "Dr. Sloan spent about twenty minutes talking to me, questioning me." He paused not really wanting to admit the next part. "I'm.. I'm sure that he suspects me but I don't know why."  
  
The chill in the other voice was detectable down the line. "You didn't tell him anything, give him any reason to suspect?"  
  
His reply was almost too quick. "No, nothing, no reason." He took a breath to calm himself, "but you've read the reports on this guy. He doesn't stop until someone's locked up and with his son involved.."  
  
"I'll take care of it." The voice stated.  
  
Evans was momentarily taken aback by the coarse statement. "Like you took care of the last problem?" He asked. "Only that hasn't gone too well has it or hadn't you noticed? When I got into this.."  
  
"I said," the voice on the line interrupted sharply. "That I'll take care of it. I've taken steps to control our other problem and I'll deal with this." There was a longer pause. "Don't call me again unless the situation changes. I will contact you."  
  
"OK but.." Evans began but the line was already dead. He hung up the receiver and leant back heavily against the booth.  
  
  
  
Jesse let the warm water of the shower wash over him, savouring the feeling as the hot spray eased the kinks out of his tired muscles. By the time he had changed the sheets and rejoined Mark, his old friend seemed to have been in slightly better spirits, but Jesse knew that Steve was never far from his thoughts. Jesse had done his best to keep his mind occupied on other matters whilst they had sipped their coffee. He had then left him watching a quiz show, setting him the challenge to answer all of the questions before the contestants. A task that Mark, since he had a vast general knowledge, found remarkably easy.  
  
Jesse spent longer than usual in the shower, attempting to scrub the ills of the world from his body and wash them away in the stream of water. Today had been tough, tomorrow would be tougher and he was exhausted. Still he was feeling a little better when he climbed out and toweled himself dry.  
  
He walked back into the living room and stopped in his tracks as he saw what was on the screen. Gone was the obsequious host and inane contestants to be replaced by images of Steve. Jesse watched transfixed, realising that, as he had done the night before, Mark had been drawn to turn one of the news channels on. A morbid curiosity driving actions which were destined only to increase the pain.  
  
The program was working through an in depth 'profile' of Lieutenant Steven Sloan, his life and career encapsulated into ten minutes of screen time, narrated in a strange 'news speak' tone used only on this and reality TV programs.  
  
Dragging his eyes from the screen Jesse walked round to where he could get a better look at Mark who sat silently, the only indication of a reaction, the white knuckle grip on the TV remote. Jesse walked over to the set and turned it off, knowing that watching the accusations leveled against Steve again would not do his friend and mentor any good.  
  
Mark did not move, did not even seem to notice as the screen went black. Jesse walked over to him and gently prised the remote from his hand. He then crouched in front of his friend trying to decide what to do. Mark looked into his eyes. "It was just like an obituary Jess," he said quietly. "Like they're saying his life is over."  
  
"Hey," Jesse replied, suddenly finding a wisdom beyond his years. "We both know that's not true, that what they say doesn't matter unless we start believing it. We're the ones that know him. Remember, we're the ones that are going to prove his innocence."  
  
Mark looked for and found the sincerity and conviction in his young friend's words and once more drew strength from them. He nodded slightly  
  
"Now come on," Jesse said, forcing a grin, "I'm tired and you're on my bed."  
  
  
  
Steve had finally managed to drift off to sleep again, but even in that there was no peace, as he relived his own shooting again, the crushing impact on his chest seemed to snatch his breath away, gasping desperately for air, he began to fight for breath, the panic thrusting him back to consciousness. Confused and disoriented he tried to move his arms and found that they were tightly bound. The rapid jerky breaths caused stabs of pain across his chest and arm that rose in intensity with each movement. He tried to call for help but his lack of breath made it come out as a pitiful gasp, any further attempts discouraged by the increase in pain that the effort cost. Unable to do anything to help himself, or to get anyone to help him, he collapsed back on to the bed and tried to ride out the waves of agony.  
  
The nurse found him twenty minutes later, conscious and writhing around as the pain refused to abate. She instantly called a doctor and did her best to make him comfortable whilst she waited. Appalled at how tightly the restraints had been fastened, she ignored procedure and released them. It was a mistake, as Steve continued to move blood began to circulate once more to his extremities, the sudden reawakening of thousands of nerve endings adding to the pain but, worse than that, the increased blood flow pulled blood away from more vital areas and Steve's blood pressure dropped through the floor. 


	13. One Chance in a Thousand

Part 13 One Chance in a Thousand.  
  
Dr. Michael Williams pulled his gloves off. "OK I want a chest X-ray, and continuos visual checks on the chest drain, any change and I want to know immediately. Let's get him up to ICU"  
  
The two nurses and junior doctor who had been working with them nodded and began preparing to move Steve as Dr. Williams stalked away, Dr. Paul Clark in tow.  
  
He was barely out of the door before he stopped and turned, venting his anger on his younger colleague. "So do you want to tell me how the hell this happened?" He asked, not leaving time for a reply before continuing. "We receive a patient in a perfectly stable condition, recovering from his injuries, excellent prognosis, and as far as I can tell less than four hours after arriving we almost kill him. Now he's heading up to ICU, and until he comes round," he paused, sighing deeply. "If he comes round, we won't know if he's suffered any permanent damage from the oxygen depravation. So I ask you again. What the Hell happened?"  
  
Dr. Clark did not have a good answer, he had never seen the normally ultra calm consultant in front of him lose it like this, ever. In fact he was struggling to remember the last time he saw him angry, even when things had gone terribly wrong and they had lost a patient, at least Steve Sloan was still alive. "I don't know, we're still investigating," he said, trying to come up with some form of answer.  
  
"Investigating!!" Dr. Williams balled up his fist and uttered a curse, walking off down the corridor again, because he knew that if he stood still he would hit someone or something.  
  
Dr. Clark headed after him running to catch up as the older Dr. lengthened his gait. "The young nurse who found him in great distress," he began to explain, but it was almost to his colleagues' back as he was forced to continue to chase him down the corridor. "realised that the restraints had been fastened too tightly," he continued. "She thought that loosening them would help him."  
  
Dr. Williams stopped abruptly and turned so that the younger man almost walked into him. "For God's sake hasn't she studied even basic circulation? Just what do they teach nurses these days?" He asked, his voice raised and tight with the barely contained anger.  
  
"She's young, inexperienced.. " Dr. Clark offered.  
  
"And that excuses her nearly killing a patient?"  
  
"No, but she shouldn't have been working on her own. We're understaffed, you know that, worse in the jail wing than anywhere else in the hospital, and she just doesn't have the skills yet."  
  
Dr. Williams eyes narrowed. "There's something else that you haven't told me," he said. He could read his young colleague like a book, after all he had trained him. "What is it?"  
  
"She didn't start CPR straight away," he admitted, quietly, knowing that, however angry his friend became, he needed to know all the facts. "She was afraid that with the injuries to the chest she would make things worse."  
  
Dr. Williams let out a deep breath and leant back against the wall as he contemplated this latest piece of information. His anger had reached it's limit, he wasn't quite sure what he felt now, despair perhaps? He closed his eyes for a moment reigning in his emotions, this could be even worse than he feared. Dr. Clark just watched him, waiting patiently. "How long?' he asked.  
  
"Fortunately she hit the crash alarm straight away, she at least recognised that he was going into shock." Dr. Clark replied. "Help was there within a couple of minutes, so the chances are that there was no permanent damage." He added, trying to understand why his friend was so concerned about this particular patient.  
  
There were a few moments of silence before Dr. Williams spoke again. "Dr. Mark Sloan, Steve's father, is one of my oldest friends," he said by way of an explanation for his behaviour. "We went to Med. school together," he stared at a point on the wall opposite. "I was even a guest at Steve's first birthday party." He looked up into the eyes of his protégé. "How am I going to tell him about this?"  
  
"I can call him if you'd like?" Dr. Clark offered, finally understanding why his colleague had shown such an uncharacteristically strong reaction. Not that the older doctor didn't care about his patients, far from it, he just rarely showed any strong emotion, usually remaining consummately professional.  
  
"No that's all right," Dr. Williams said pushing himself up off the wall, suddenly weary. "I'll do it, you go up and check that the patient's settled, I'd hate for anything else to go wrong," he added, heading towards his office to make the sort of phone call that was never easy.  
  
  
  
Mark had just fallen into an uneasy sleep when his pager went off, forcing himself to focus whilst simultaneously cursing whichever idiot at the hospital didn't realise that he was in no state to work at the moment, he checked it and found it was a number that he did not recognise. He dialed it and got a voice that he did. It was fortunate that he was already sitting on the bed as he listened to what his old friend had to say. He knew that had he been standing, he could not have remained so.  
  
"Mark? Mark? Are you there?" The voice on the line asked urgently.  
  
Mark just stared at the receiver as his mind tried frantically to take in this latest crisis, following on from so many others, he was almost numbed to it. Finally he replied, "Yes Mike I'm here, could you just hold the line a minute?" He stood up and walked into the living room and gently shook Jesse awake. Without a word he handed him the phone and then went back to the bedroom to get dressed.  
  
Jesse, who had also been drifting off to sleep, rubbed his eyes and spoke into the handset. It took the two surprised doctors a couple of minutes to establish each others identity before Dr. Williams explained why he had called.  
  
Jesse had never known Mark to be so quiet, they had only spoken a few words since the phone call, the journey to the medical center had been in almost total silence and now they sat in the office of one of the hospital's senior consultants, he looked at his old friend and tried to read his emotions. The last few days had seen his son lurch from one crisis to the next, like some uncontrollable chain reaction, triggered by the events in the clinic on Saturday night. Now he faced even more, possibly devastating news., but his face was a mask, the only clue to the emotional turmoil, the ever active eyes and the slight sigh that escaped as the door opened.  
  
"Mark," Dr. Williams said warmly walking over to him as the old Dr. stood to greet his friend. "It's been a long time," he said, shaking his hand vigorously  
  
"Mike," Mark replied, smiling, despite his other emotions, he could not help the pleasure he felt at seeing a friend he had known for so long and shared a part of his youth with. "Too long," he admitted.  
  
As if exchanging a silent telepathy both men stared into each others eyes for a moment and then, their mood more sombre, they broke both the eye contact and the handshake. Dr. Williams moved behind his desk. "I wish it could be under better circumstances."  
  
Mark took a deep breath before asking the question he had to ask but was almost too afraid to. He didn't think that he could take any more bad news. "How is he?" He asked, shakily.  
  
"As far as we can tell, he's going to be fine." Dr. Williams replied. Both Jesse and Mark let out the breath they had been holding, "We've got him in ICU and all the signs are that we got to him quickly enough'" He paused briefly, "but as you both know," he added cautiously, "until he wakes up we can't be sure."  
  
"Exactly what happened?" Jesse asked, "I mean when he was transferred he was fine."  
  
Dr. Williams opened his mouth to answer but before he had a chance he was interrupted.  
  
"Can I see him?" Mark asked.  
  
"Yes, of course, I'll take you up personally," Dr. Williams replied, "but only you I'm afraid." He looked apologetically at Jesse. "He's still a prisoner so I can only let next of kin see him."  
  
Jesse nodded "I understand," he said, trying hard to hide his disappointment. Being denied the opportunity to see for himself that his friend was OK, just reinforced the awfulness of the situation they were in.  
  
  
  
Mark had never before understood how the relatives of a patient must feel when each new day brought with it a new setback. He had lived through some awful situations in his life. The death of his wife to cancer had meant that he had had to watch her condition slowly deteriorate over months, knowing that there was nothing that he could do. Then he had almost lost Steve to a shooting and had ended up in jail accused of killing the man responsible, and, of course, there was the destruction of Community General, his hospital, in a bomb attack that had almost cost all of them their lives. He had lived through and dealt with all of these situations and yet nothing could have prepared him for the situation he was living through now.  
  
Watching his son suffer physically and psychologically was hard enough, but the pattern of setback after setback, of every day the situation becoming worse instead of better was almost impossible to bear. He walked slowly down the corridors. He had now had nearly two hours to come to terms with this latest crisis, and, even as it tore another piece from his heart, he fought the temptation towards despondency. If he gave up then Steve would too and that was something that he had to prevent happening. He had to believe that they would be able to resolve this, that Steve would recover. It was the only way he could go on.  
  
As he entered ICU he could not help but dwell for a moment on the negative rather than the positive, swallowing hard as something caught in his throat, he moved over to the bed and allowed his hand to hover over his son's for a moment before taking hold of it, drawing strength from the warmth that he felt there.  
  
He looked at Steve's still pale complexion. Somehow, seeing him, touching him again, despite all of the monitors and machines, once more restored his faith. He was strong, Steve was strong, together, however bad things got, they would make it through. He repeated that conviction to himself like a mantra before he found the strength to speak. "Don't worry son, I'll get you through this." he said somehow keeping his voice calm and even  
  
The thirty minutes that he was allowed to sit by Steve's bedside seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. At Community General, wild horses would not have dragged him away until Steve was awake and he was sure that he was going to be all right, but here, Mark was aware that his friend had already bent the rules for him and he was grateful for that.  
  
Walking away, however, was still impossibly hard.  
  
  
  
Jesse had spent the time establishing what had happened and securing some assurances. First that the porter who had fastened the restraints in the first place would be dealt with. Secondly that the young nurse would not be left alone in charge of patients until she had received more training, particularly in how to deal with critical patients.  
  
As Dr. Williams had outlined the situation as he knew it, Jesse had found himself becoming increasingly angry. Especially when he found out that the porter concerned had already been up on several disciplinary charges over his handling of the patients. The fact that it was difficult to find staff to cover the prison ward in an already understaffed health service, a situation reflected at hospitals across the country, did not seem to him to be sufficient justification to continue to employ somebody whom they knew mistreated patients.  
  
He decided not to give Mark all of the details unless he asked, as he found himself once again in the position of trying to protect his friend from news that would increase his distress. He was surprised when the old doctor quietly asked if they could go back to his place. He had expected Mark to insist on staying in the hospital until Steve was awake.  
  
"We both need to get some rest," Mark said looking with concern at his young colleague, he knew that Jesse had managed little sleep since Saturday night and it was beginning to take it's toll. "Mike's promised to contact us if there's any change."  
  
"Are you OK?" Jesse asked.  
  
"In the circumstances, what is it we say?. As well as can be expected." Mark sighed. "The best thing we can both do for Steve right now is solve this puzzle and clear his name. Now that I know that Mike is going to personally handle Steve's care I know that I don't need to worry about that, he's in good hands." He forced a smile, "So what do you say to a few more hours on that couch of yours before we get back to working the case."  
  
Jesse smiled back, appreciative of his friend's efforts. "Sounds like heaven at the moment," he admitted, suddenly realising himself how tired he was. He yawned. "If you see me nodding off on the way back let me know."  
  
  
  
Nathan arrived at the hospital reasonably early and headed up to the pathology labs to see Amanda. She was on the phone and did not look happy. She waved to Nathan to enter, flashing him a brief smile of greeting before she returned her concentration to listening to the person at the other end of her line. It was clear that she was becoming increasingly angry.  
  
"Look," she said attempting to control her temper. "I don't care what your records show, all copies of the report were sent over by the lab yesterday afternoon and you're trying to tell me that you never received them." Her eyes narrowed. "Well I've just spoken to the people at the lab and they are prepared to fax me a copy of the receipt that someone at your office signed, a receipt for the reports that you never received." There was a pause whilst she listened again. "Right I'll do that," she said slamming the receiver back into it's cradle.  
  
She turned her attention to Nathan who held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey whatever it is I hope I'm not involved." He said smiling.  
  
Despite herself Amanda smiled back. "Good job you're not," she replied.  
  
"So you want to share?" He asked.  
  
"I've been trying since 8 o'clock to get a copy of the ballistics report on that bullet from the DA's office, only they have no record of sending for or receiving any such report." She sighed. "The ballistics lab meanwhile still hasn't traced their file copy, but they can show that the other copies were indeed delivered to the DA's office. The clerk at the DA's office has just promised to 'investigate' if I fax her over a copy of the receipt." She dropped down into her chair. "Meanwhile I still have no idea what the report said, they can't find the bullet to repeat the test and the person who carried out the original is not only taking a couple of days off but he's taken his girlfriend up the coast so there's no chance of getting in touch with him." She looked Nathan in the eye. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that fate was conspiring to prevent me from finding out where that bullet came from, only the stupid thing is I already know where it came from, the same gun as all of the others. I just can't prove it."  
  
Nathan pulled out his cell phone. "OK just give me a minute," he said moving over towards the door. When he returned a moment later he was smiling again. "Well both, Captain Newman and I agree with you, it is too much of a coincidence for all of the copies of the report and the bullet itself to have gone missing, so he's going to put a couple of people on it."  
  
"Thanks, now maybe I can get these DNA matches finished."  
  
"That's one of the reasons I'm here, that and to tell Mark what we found out at the clinic. Is he here yet?" Nathan asked.  
  
"No, he went out to the medical center late last night." Amanda said as a concerned look crossed her features. "You have heard what happened to Steve?" She asked.  
  
Nathan nodded, he didn't know what else to say.  
  
"Jesse called a while back said they'd be in around ten. So in the meantime I'll get these tests finished up and you." She pointed over to where the pot sat on the side. "Can make the coffee"  
  
  
  
Dr. Peter West, psychiatrist on the Jail ward, fell into the first category of people who worked at the Medical Center. He had started working there because he believed that he could make a difference but that had been ten years ago. He wasn't sure why he stayed now. Duty? Reluctance to change? He'd certainly had most of his idealism knocked out of him by the reality of the system, jaded by years of being unable to help people, some of whom were in desperate need, but had almost certainly passed beyond the point where they could have been helped, long before he got to see them.  
  
To him Lieutenant Steve Sloan's case might have passed him by as just another lost soul that he would be unable, despite his efforts, to help. Even with all of the publicity surrounding the incident, it is doubtful that he would have become so involved, or spent so much time on the case if it hadn't been for a message on his answer machine from a colleague at Community General.  
  
Having spoken to Dr. Carter he was very regretful that there had not been someone on hand to assess Steve, or to at least speak to him, when he had been brought in the night before. If there had been, then the incident that had nearly killed him would almost certainly not have happened. What the delay in speaking to someone about his arrest had done to him psychologically was anyone's guess, but one thing both psychiatrists were sure of, the sooner they could get him to talk, the better his chances of recovery were.  
  
So Dr. West had taken the time to talk to Steve's doctors and have them page him the second Steve came round. Whilst he had waited he had studied the background notes on the case, by the time the page came, he was thoroughly briefed He had then spent the next two hours sitting with Steve and talking to him and now he was ready to report back to his colleague.  
  
There was some good news, there did not seem to be any neurological damage caused by the shock. However, the rest of what he had to say was not so encouraging. Steve was extremely withdrawn, getting him to talk at all had been extremely difficult, without the earlier phone call he would have given up trying. When he did speak it was clear that his own view of the incident was that he had caused it, beyond that he would say nothing about it. He would not face the memories and therefore could not begin to do anything to heal. If that were not bad enough it was clear from his answers to some of the questions that he was asked, that he believed that he should not have survived.  
  
"I wish I could be more positive." Dr. West said as he concluded his phone call, "but he's close to the edge of a total mental breakdown and I'm at loss as to what we can do to stop it. He needs to talk but he can't or won't. Very little of what I said to him got through."  
  
"Well thanks for at least trying," Dr. Carter said. "Keep me up to date if anything changes."  
  
Dr. Carter, sat back in her chair and considered her options, frustrated that she could not talk to Steve herself. The fact that she knew him so well might give her the edge that was needed to get through to him. Her thoughts were interrupted by her intercom.  
  
"There's a lieutenant Stiles here from the police department," her secretary said. "He says he'd like to speak to you regarding Lieutenant Sloan."  
  
  
  
Mark and Jesse arrived at Amanda's lab a little after ten, having exchanged greetings and news about Steve they all sat down around Amanda's desk whilst she pulled up the DNA records that she had scanned in to her computer.  
  
"OK Mark so you were right," she said, using the mouse to manipulate the images on screen as she spoke. "The DNA in those blood stains does not match any of the victims found at the scene." She paused for effect "Or at least not fully, she added.  
  
Both Jesse and Mark picked up on the significance of her words straight away as she pulled up a file showing a 50 per cent match.  
  
"Who with?" Mark asked.  
  
"Robert Hughes," Amanda replied.  
  
"Would one of you mind translating what this means," Nathan asked.  
  
"It means that whoever the other person in the room was, they were closely related to Robert Hughes, father, mother, brother, sister." Jesse answered.  
  
"Sorry I should have said, it's definitely from a male." Amanda added.  
  
"Father or brother then," Jesse said  
  
"But according to the file, Hughes didn't have any siblings and I'm pretty sure that his father is dead." Nathan replied.  
  
"Could be a half brother, those relationships aren't always recorded," Amanda suggested.  
  
"I'll check it out as soon as I leave here," Nathan said.  
  
"So that should tell us the who but still not the how or the why." Jesse turned to look at Nathan, "What else did forensics find at the scene?"  
  
"We have two partial shoeprints, one of them matches the shoes Hughes was wearing, so we know that was the way he came in. The second will presumably match up when we find whoever that DNA belongs to. We also got lucky on the car, a CHP unit spotted a vehicle stopped on the shoulder of PCH at 5.55 p.m. Saturday evening. They stopped to check with the driver and made a note of the license plate. It was gone when they came back so they thought no more of it but they're both giving descriptions of the driver to a police sketch artist."  
  
"That means there was a third person involved?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Looks that way," Nathan confirmed. "If we assume that Hughes and the unknown person both had to be in the clinic at six when Steve arrived then they must have left a driver with the car"  
  
"Actually there were at least four." Mark stated.  
  
Everyone turned to look at him.  
  
Mark had decided, having had time to think about it, to pass on his suspicions about Dr. Evans. He did his best to explain why he thought the doctor was involved. " I think he was at the very least involved in the robbery," he concluded, "I'm just not sure about his motive or his involvement in the shootings."  
  
"So where do we go from here?" Jesse asked.  
  
"Well there's still the car, that was reported stolen but not until midnight Saturday, belonged to a shiftworker at a loading plant, we've got some people over there checking to see if anyone saw anything." Nathan replied.  
  
"And I'd like to talk to Dr. Evans' old receptionist," Mark said, "Sarah Mackay had only been working for him for a few weeks, prior to that a Mrs. Edmonds had worked with him since the clinic opened."  
  
At that point Mark's cell phone rang. He answered it and, although the others could only hear one side of the conversation, they knew from Mark's demeanour that it was not good news. When he hung up they all waited patiently for him to speak.  
  
"That was John, Steve's lawyer," he said wearily. "Steve refuses to see him or to sign the papers requesting bail. He's going to try to get the judge to grant a release without that but he doesn't hold out much hope."  
  
Amanda stood and put her hands on Mark's shoulder's gripping them to show her support. "Don't worry" she said softly. "We'll get him out of there."  
  
Mark lifted his right hand and gripped hers. "I know we will."  
  
  
  
Dr. Carter and Lieutenant Stiles sat and waited for Mark to join them. After a long conversation they had come up with a strategy but, Dr. Carter in particular, wanted Mark's approval before attempting anything this drastic.  
  
Mark walked into the room and stopped abruptly when he saw Stiles. His eyes flashed with an uncharacteristic anger before he controlled it. This was one of the people who had had his son arrested, taken him away from friends and family when he needed them most and had led to him almost dying the night before. It took great self control for him not to just turn round and walk back through the door but something told him that Dr. Carter would not have asked him down if it hadn't been important, so he took a deep breath and turned to face the doctor. "You asked to see me?" he said his voice tight from the suppressed emotion.  
  
"Yes, Dr. Sloan, please take a seat and listen to what the lieutenant has to say." Dr. Carter replied, recognising how difficult this was for Mark.  
  
Mark thought about it for a moment, he trusted Dr. Carter's judgment so he took a seat, but he did not look over at the IA officer even when he began to speak.  
  
"I know you've got every reason to dislike me at the moment Dr. Sloan," Stiles began, "I have to admit to not much liking myself sometimes with the things I have to do, but I want you to know that arresting Steve was not my idea." He drew in a deep breath. "In fact I argued against it. Everything I've read about your son suggests that he would not recklessly endanger lives, he must have had a good reason for doing what he did."  
  
Mark finally turned to look at the man, he had not expected this. "Then why did you arrest him?"  
  
"The assistant DA insisted, I could have refused to be a part of it but then she would just have taken me off the case and I didn't want that to happen. Steve's a good officer and I don't come across those very often in my job. There are those that would bury him though, guilty or innocent, in the cause of political expediency. At least if I stay on the case I can help to stop that happening." He looked across at Dr. Carter. "I came to see Dr. Carter here, to see if she could give me any suggestions on how to get through to him. If we can get Steve to give a proper version of what happened that night, then we've got a much better chance of clearing him."  
  
"We've come up with a strategy that I think might work," Dr. Carter continued. "But it does carry an element of risk." Mark had turned to look at her and she held his gaze. "I spoke to Dr. West, the psychiatrist who has been assigned Steve's case. He spent two hours with Steve this morning." She sat forward in her chair but her gaze was unwavering. "Steve's perched on the brink of a complete mental breakdown and if that happens then he won't be telling us anything for a very long time. I won't lie to you. I think we've got one chance in a thousand of preventing it from happening but I feel we have to try."  
  
"And this strategy of yours.."  
  
"Will either push him over the edge or it will pull him back. No middle ground. It will either make him a lot worse or a lot better."  
  
"And if we do nothing?"  
  
"Then I think circumstances will push him over the edge anyway, I'm just not sure how quickly."  
  
Mark considered all of the implications and knew that however slim the hope he had to give Dr. Carter the chance to help. The alternative was to sit back and watch his son slowly fall apart. "Then try it," he said quietly.  
  
"You're sure?" Dr. Carter asked.  
  
Mark nodded. 


	14. What Happened?

Author's note:-Well here's the chapter that you've all been waiting for, the one I've been building up to for the last thirteen chapters. Hope it doesn't disappoint. Warning:- There is some in character mild swearing in this chapter but I couldn't avoid it.  
  
Part 14 What Happened?!  
  
Dr. Carter arrived at the hospital in the company of Lieutenant Stiles. She had got past the first of the hurdles which was to get Mark to agree to her suggestions, now she had to get past Dr. Michael Williams. Mark had called and explained the situation to him and, having established that time was of the essence, he had agreed to them coming over to talk to him. Not that she thought that he would object to her strategy. It was Steve's physical condition that might provide a barrier to them trying it. If Dr Williams did not think that Steve would be strong enough then the whole idea would have to be placed on hold until he was.  
  
Any delay would reduce their chances of getting through to him. She was in no doubt that if his physical isolation continued and he was allowed to dwell on the fact that he had been arrested, it would reinforce his perception of responsibility. Unable to face the memories of what really happened and with a skewed perspective, he was likely to complete the withdrawal that he had already begun. From that there would be no easy route back.  
  
For the whole of the journey to the Medical center and as they waited in Dr Williams' office, she prayed that she would get a chance to try to help him and that, if she did, it would work.  
  
  
  
Dr. Williams was tired, he had been at the end of a long shift the previous evening when he had been called back to help with Steve's case. He had then stayed, both to talk to Mark and after that to make sure that there were no further complications. He had snatched a few hours sleep in one of the on call rooms before starting again and had decided that he was definitely getting too old to be treating his body in this way. It was at times like these that that retirement place he had considered taking, up the coast somewhere, seemed far more attractive.  
  
He sat and considered what Dr. Carter and Lieutenant Stiles had outlined to him. He had checked on Steve's condition just before he had come up to meet them. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose then put them on again. "Before all this happened Lieutenant Sloan was an extremely fit and healthy individual," he began, "but physically he has suffered a great deal of trauma in the last few days. If it was just the injuries, muscle damage, broken ribs, then, given his level of fitness, I wouldn't see it as a problem but." He paused looking Dr Carter in the eye. "His blood pressure has dropped to dangerously low levels on three separate occasions and I don't need to tell you what a strain that can put on the heart and other major organs. Not to mention the collapsed lung. Again, it's healing well but it has all taken it's toll." He blew out a breath. "To be honest with you I'm loathe to allow anything that risks putting him under any sort of pressure. What you are suggesting will increase his stress levels considerably. Are you sure this can't wait until he's a little stronger?"  
  
"You've seen him, talked to him?" She asked, getting a nod in response, she continued. "Then you know the state he's already in mentally. If we don't do something sooner rather than later, I think he'll suffer a complete breakdown that it could take him years to recover from, if ever."  
  
Dr Williams sighed and leaned forward. "Well, Mark seems to trust your judgement, so I'm going to let you try. He's in a private room already so at least you won't have to move him, but I want you to promise me doctor, if he shows any signs of physical distress, then you'll stop what you are doing and call me in."  
  
Dr Carter nodded and looked across at Lieutenant Stiles who had remained silent during the last exchange. "Don't worry, we both want to help him. If there are any problems then we will stop immediately."  
  
  
  
Byron Cooper answered his cell phone like he did everything else in life, angrily and abruptly. It was possibly because of his name, he had had to learn to defend himself from an early age from the teasing of others, or maybe it was because his parents were so different from each other, he had never quite felt he fitted in. His mother, it was she that had given him the name, came from a wealthy middle class family who always ate dinner at the table, with a fresh tablecloth and clean neatly pressed napkins. His father's family were more likely to eat a TV dinner off their lap, that's if they weren't too drunk to remember it was a meal time.  
  
As Byron understood it, his father had been part of his mother's rebellion phase, she had rebelled against her upbringing and everything it stood for, and he had been the result of a six month fling that had only lasted that long because his mother's parents forbade her from seeing his father. Pregnant and deserted, she had finally returned home, tail between her legs, and had never rebelled again, unless drinking yourself into oblivion on a regular basis could be called rebellion.  
  
Byron had undergone his own form of rebellion, living with a mother who blamed you for ruining her life, who told you every day that she was alone because of you, would do that to a child. So eventually he had found out about his father, ironically from his mother whilst she was in her alcohol haze, and had run away to find him. His romantic ideal of what his father would be like was destroyed by the stark reality, the man was a thug and an ill educated one at that, but to a lost fourteen year old boy, angry at the world he had seemed ideal.  
  
He had discovered that he had a half brother who was two years younger than him and he swapped his urban lifestyle for the inner city streets. He had grown up and toughened up very quickly, having the advantages of intelligence, education and that anger, he had quickly adapted to a new way of life.  
  
Then again, maybe he always did everything abruptly and angrily because his upbringing had left him ever so slightly on the wrong side of insanity.  
  
"Yes, what do you want?" he snapped into the phone. His reply was even more brusque than usual, he hated to be interrupted in the middle of something and his arm still smarted from the bullet that had gauged a neat hole in it.  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"Standing outside a motel, getting ready to go in and deal with our little problem. Should be easy, these two are behaving like newly weds. They've got the 'Do not disturb sign' on the door and they've paid two days in advance so no one will bother them. I couldn't have set them up so that they wouldn't be found quickly if I'd arranged it myself, although why they bothered coming all the way up here to.."  
  
"Byron!" The voice was sharp. He stopped speaking. "Did I ever tell you you talk too much?"  
  
"You wouldn't dare." He replied just the right amount of menace in his voice to convey the fact that it wasn't friendly banter. He meant it.  
  
There was a hesitation. "No, you're right," a pause, "Look I need to call it off. There's no need to kill him now, they've already figured out that there was someone else in the clinic."  
  
"Who? How?" Byron asked, quickly processing this new information.  
  
"That police officer's nosy father." There was another pause. "He found traces of your blood at the scene and had it analysed."  
  
Byron cursed.  
  
"Anyway," the voice continued, "There's no reason to get rid of the ballistics guy now."  
  
"Mark Deakin."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
Byron sighed, "Mark Deakin, it's the name of the guy you asked me to kill. You know if you're going to have somebody murdered you could at least do them the courtesy of trying to remember their name."  
  
There was a hesitation from the person at the other end as they tried to figure out how to take this comment.  
  
"After all murder is so personal," Byron continued.  
  
"Yes, I'm sorry," the voice said, a nervous edge there now. "Well there's no need to murder Mr. Deakin now."  
  
"I might anyway just for the fun of it, his girlfriend is very pretty you know?" He smiled. "Did I mention they took a room at the back so they wouldn't disturb anyone if they made too much noise."  
  
"No," the voice said quickly, "It will just raise unnecessary suspicion, besides I need you back in LA I have another job for you," again a pause, "a job I think you'll enjoy."  
  
Byron eyed the room with the 'Do not disturb' sign hanging from the door. "More than I'll enjoy finishing what I came here to do?"  
  
"Oh yes," the voice said, suddenly sounding much more confident. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it much more. I want you to take care of Dr. Mark Sloan."  
  
Byron grinned, the father of the man who had killed his brother, perfect. "Oh yes," he agreed.  
  
  
  
Amanda tried her hardest to concentrate on her paperwork and ignore her old friend. She knew that he wasn't trying to annoy her but the pacing up and down, punctuated by him stopping to look at something on one of her shelves, usually fiddling with it for a moment or two before returning it, was beginning to grate on her nerves.  
  
She appreciated the fact that he did not want to be alone, he had outlined Dr Carter's strategy to both herself and Jesse when he had returned from his meeting and she knew that, however hard he tried, it would be difficult for him to think about anything else. Part of her was pleased to provide the comfort that he needed whilst Jesse finished his rounds. Another part of her, however, wanted to scream at him to put things down and just sit still. She repressed the urge, instead she spoke softly to him. "Mark."  
  
He turned to look at her.  
  
"Do you think you could fix some fresh coffee?" She asked.  
  
He nodded and began the task without another word, something told Amanda that once again Steve wasn't the only one who they should be worried about. She looked at her watch, Jesse would finish his rounds soon, then he had arranged for someone to cover his shift in the ER so that he could drive Mark to interview Mrs Edmonds, it would at least give him something else to focus on.  
  
  
  
  
  
Lt. Stiles and Dr. Carter stood outside the door to Steve's room and looked at each other.  
  
"Are you ready for this?" Stiles asked.  
  
Dr Carter took a deep breath and nodded. "You?" she asked.  
  
"I've got to admit to being slightly nervous," he replied honestly. "I mean I've run this routine a thousand times before when interviewing a suspect but I don't think I've ever cared quite so much about the outcome."  
  
Dr Carter looked at him. "It's hard knowing that we might push him over the edge isn't it?"  
  
Stiles returned her gaze. "Yes."  
  
Her eyes searched his for any doubt that he would be able to go through with it. "You still want to try?"  
  
"Yes." He pushed open the door for her to enter.  
  
Steve was sitting up in bed staring vacantly at a point on the corner of the blanket by his feet. He did not move or acknowledge their entrance in any way. Dr Carter walked over to him and sat down. "Steve?" she said, he did not look at her. "Steve," she repeated, I've been asked to come to talk to you and accompany Lieutenant Stiles here, whilst he interviews you." She paused momentarily. "You do remember Lieutenant Stiles don't you?"  
  
Steve could hear Dr Carter talking but it was as though she were talking to someone else and he was just watching from a different place. His thoughts, his actions, seemed somehow detached from his body, but he did know that Dr Carter was here to help him. That's what she did, help people. He turned his head to look first at her and then towards Lieutenant Stiles. He was not here to help, he had arrested him and sent him here, Steve felt a fleeting anger. He wanted to make him remember, wanted to question him, but Steve knew that he did not want to remember, knew that he was too afraid to remember.  
  
Dr Carter watched as Steve looked up at Stiles and his eyes flashed with anger, then fear. She was relieved, it was some sort of emotional reaction, they hadn't lost him yet. "Steve I asked if you remembered Lieutenant Stiles?"  
  
Steve looked back down at the bed. He nodded. "Yes."  
  
"Where from?"  
  
"He arrested me."  
  
"And how do you feel about that?"  
  
His words came out in hesitant half formed sentences as different emotions took hold.  
  
Injustice. "He shouldn't have." Frustration. "I was only trying.I wanted to.." Guilt. "I guess I deserve.." Defeat. "I don't know." He shrugged  
  
Dr Carter looked across at the Lieutenant and nodded ever so slightly. All of the emotions were still there, if they could only channel them in the right direction.  
  
"We haven't got time for this," Stiles said taking on a harsh tone as he settled into the role he was about to play. "I've got some questions and I need answers to them.. now!"  
  
"I'm sure Steve will do his best to answer," Dr Carter said, as soft with her tone as Stiles was brusque with his.  
  
"I need to know what happened in that clinic on Saturday night. I need a full report."  
  
Steve looked at the floor. "I can't remember," he said quietly.  
  
"Oh but you can," Stiles moved in on him, leaning over the bed so that Steve was forced to look at him. "You can remember everything, you just don't want to tell me."  
  
Steve looked into Stiles eyes for an instant before turning from the intensity of the glare. He looked across at Dr Carter for support. "I don't remember," he forced out.  
  
"You need to tell us Steve," she said gently, the tone was different but the implication was the same. She wanted him to remember too and he couldn't do it, he just couldn't, it was too painful.  
  
"I.. can't," he said even more hesitant, turning back to Stiles as somehow the gentle cajoling from the doctor was worse than the hostility from the lieutenant.  
  
"And why is that Lieutenant," Stiles switched tone again, sarcastic now, "What are you afraid of?" He paused for effect. "Are you afraid we'll find out how incompetent you were, that you did everything wrong." Steve missed the brief glance from Stiles to Dr Carter as he checked that he should push it the whole way. She nodded slightly. They had to force Steve to fight back. She knew that a part of him recognised the injustice of his situation. "Are you afraid that we'll find out, that you are so bad at your job that your incompetence got those people killed."  
  
There was a hesitation as Steve battled with the mixture of thoughts and emotions. Yes he had got those people killed but he had tried to help them. He was good at his job, his actions had been justified, so surely.. but did that count? Everyone was dead. It was his fault. Again he could not sort the tumble of responses as he tried to answer. "Yes I.. No it was.. It's.. I can't explain."  
  
"Well you're going to have to try."  
  
Steve looked up. "I can't," he repeated.  
  
"So tell me about your incompetence Steve." Stiles said pushing harder. "How did you get those people killed?"  
  
Again the words stung, the guilt was still in control but part of him knew that he had reacted as he had to, he hadn't had a choice, it wasn't incompetence was it? If you didn't have a choice? If you did your best? But there should have been something. If he had behaved differently then maybe the outcome would have been different. To sort it out he would have to remember. "I don't want to remember," he said pleadingly, "Please don't make me."  
  
"You have to," Dr Carter injected gently, "We're trying to help you." He was responding, they might get somewhere, but they needed to keep the momentum up. She looked at Stiles and saw him struggle to control his own emotions but to his credit he repressed it and returned to his badgering roll. They could not afford to stop now.  
  
Steve looked across at Dr Carter looking for support, pleading with his eyes for her to make this stop, but another sharp comment from Stiles drew him back. "You say you got those people killed. I need to know how."  
  
The despondency kicked in. "I said it was my fault, does it matter?"  
  
"Does it matter?" Stiles said, feigning outrage. "Those people had family, friends. How would you feel if it was Jesse or Amanda or your father? If they were dead, wouldn't you want to know how?"  
  
The personal attack was again on the edge, pushing for a reaction. Steve did not answer as he tried to consider the question.  
  
Stiles pressed his advantage. "The man who attacked you at the hospital, John Ryland, he lost his twelve year old daughter Mary, don't you think he deserves to know what happened?"  
  
Steve flashed back to one of the most haunting images of his nightmares, the young girl lying on the floor, eyes fixed and staring.  
  
"Answer me, don't you think he and the other relatives deserve to know?"  
  
The image was replaced by that of the distraught, wild eyed parent, desperate for someone to blame for his loss. He did deserve the truth.  
  
"If it were you, wouldn't you want to know." Stiles kept pushing.  
  
"Yes," Steve whispered.  
  
"I'm sorry Lieutenant I didn't hear you."  
  
"I said yes," Steve repeated a little more loudly.  
  
"Then tell us."  
  
Steve hesitated, they had a right to know, but some of the barriers he had built were still intact. "I.."  
  
"Oh please," Stiles said his tone sarcastic once more. "Don't tell me you can't." It was time to play his ace in the hole. "Do you want more people to die?"  
  
Steve looked at him, confused by the change in questioning. "No," he said firmly, he hadn't wanted anyone to die.  
  
"Then we need to know the truth. There was a second person in the clinic that night wasn't there? Why didn't you tell us about it?"  
  
Again an image broke through. "Yes," Steve said, "I was going to.." he remembered wanting to tell Nathan, to warn him in case anyone else got hurt.  
  
"I was going to isn't good enough. We need to know what happened. Who was he? Will he hurt anyone else?" Stiles paused, before delivering the lowest blow, "Do you want more deaths on your conscience?" he paused to let it hit home.  
  
No answer.  
  
"Do you want to be responsible for more people dying Lieutenant."  
  
No answer.  
  
"Come on Lieutenant, do you?"  
  
A whisper, "No."  
  
"Then you have to tell us what happened. You have to tell us about this man. You have to remember."  
  
Steve looked up, looking Lieutenant Stiles directly in the eye, he had the expression of a trapped animal, and Stiles knew that they had won the first part of the battle, Steve would tell them.  
  
"It's your duty, lieutenant," Stiles said, his voice, for the first time since they had entered, dropping some of it's harshness. "Tell us what happened."  
  
Steve nodded as the last of the barriers fell.  
  
  
  
Nathan turned up at the hospital shortly after Jesse and Mark left. He looked at his watch as he entered Amanda's lab. "I've got some interesting news for you," he said once they had exchanged greetings.  
  
"Go on," she replied, sitting down.  
  
"The detectives that the Captain had looking into the incident with the bullet turned up some interesting anomalies."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"The ballistics lab didn't report it, but at one point the reports on all of the bullets from the crime scene went missing. They turned up after a search so nobody thought any more of it, apparently they were only missing for about an hour but they had to send the courier away and call them back once they had been found."  
  
"But why.." Amanda began.  
  
"Wait," Nathan held up his hand. "Before you ask your questions there's more. Mark Deakin did not carry out the tests on the other bullets. In fact nobody is quite sure why this one was put on his work schedule, apart from the fact that it arrived separately from the others, or who put it on there. Everyone knew that he was about to take a few days leave, seems this is the anniversary of when he and his girlfriend first met and he's been planning this trip for weeks, talking about nothing else. As you said earlier, it's almost as if someone were trying to stop the results of the test on that bullet getting out. As for the reports, or the bullet, there's no sign of them."  
  
Amanda was thoughtful for a moment. "Then I'm not just being paranoid, there's definitely something going on here."  
  
"Sure looks that way," we've managed to trace the motel where Deakin has taken his girlfriend and the local police are going out to talk to him so that we can see if we can at least establish what this mysterious missing report said. I'm expecting a call at any time now."  
  
  
  
Steve's eyes were defocused, he appeared to be staring at a point on the far side of the room but it was clear that he could not see anything. His voice was flat and even as he began to describe the events of Saturday night. Once more it was like watching the images play out on a projector in his head. He forced himself to describe what he saw, pulling away from the emotion so that he could focus, just this once, on the facts  
  
He had been driving along PCH, for some reason he hadn't turned his radio off, which was unusual, he normally did when he was off duty, so occasionally it crackled into life as messages were dispatched of more crimes to be prevented or solved. When the call about the Hillside clinic had come through he had noticed the address and recognised the name of the building, knowing that he was less than a minute away, he had no choice but to respond.  
  
He'd pulled into the parking lot and parked away from the building. He called in the fact that he was there, informing dispatch that he was going to check it out, before climbing out of his truck and putting on his flak jacket. Gun drawn he had moved cautiously across the car park trying to avoid being seen from either of the windows at the front of the clinic. Eventually he had thrown himself up against the wall by one of them and peered inside.  
  
Steve had got to this point in the story last time he had tried to tell it, before his brain had refused to let him deal with it. Dr Carter watched silently for signs that he would shut down again but there were none. The only betrayal of any emotion were the unshed tears shining in Steve's eyes. His voice remained resolutely emotionless.  
  
"I couldn't get a good view of what was going on from the window on the left, just shadows, flickers of movement, so I decided to move to the one on the other side of the door. I dropped onto my hands and scooted across under the level of the window so that I couldn't be seen from inside. As I stood up at the other one I could see what was going on. You can see the whole of the reception room from that side. There was one male, Caucasian, early- mid twenties waving a semi-automatic weapon at a group of hostages. They all stood in a line with their hands on their heads. I couldn't count them properly, maybe twelve, fourteen of them. Two were children, a boy and a girl, both in their early teens."  
  
Steve's report sounded like a witness statement, he was reciting it like he was giving evidence in court, using a familiar activity to stave off having to deal with the emotions that were wrapped around his memories like a choking vine.  
  
"I remember cursing the fact that backup still hadn't arrived. The gunman was extremely agitated, he looked like he was on drugs from the way he was dancing about and shouting at the hostages. I couldn't hear what he said, but they were cringing with each shout. It looked as though the women were crying." There was a brief pause. "I looked over to my truck trying to gauge how quickly I could make it back to call the situation in and decide whether I should move or wait for backup. From my vantage point I could at least update everyone as to what was going on. That's when the first shot was fired." Steve's words began to come more quickly with the remembered tension of the situation.  
  
"For a moment I thought he'd spotted me I flattened myself back against the wall as I turned back to look, but it wasn't fired in my direction. He just.." He paused this time to find the right way to phrase it. "executed the guy. Pointed the gun at his head and blew his brains out. The other hostages were terrified, some of them screamed, some of them just stood there in shock. A young guy went for the gunman but he backed off when the gun was pointed at his head. That's when the gunman turned towards the window and I moved back so that he wouldn't see me."  
  
Steve stopped and closed his eyes drawing in a deep breath before continuing. "There was still no sign of backup. I hadn't been in too many of these situations but I thought I recognised it. The guy was either crazy or high on something. It did not look like a situation that we were going to be able to negotiate our way out of . I had to decide what to do. He still didn't know I was there, but I couldn't really do anything until backup arrived." There was a sudden spark of anger. "What the hell took them so damned long." Then the flash was gone. "I risked looking back through the window, the hostages had calmed down but the gunman hadn't, if anything he had become more agitated. I weighed up the options. The front door was opaque and on a latch, if I could get it open I had a clear line of sight. I could take him out without endangering the hostages. If the door was locked then I wouldn't have lost anything by trying."  
  
There was a longer pause as Steve remembered the frustration he had felt at being alone and faced with a life or death dilemma. He controlled it.  
  
"I was still trying to decide what to do when he raised his gun again, this time I saw the whole thing, he pointed it at the head of one of the hostages and pulled the trigger. I watched him fall and knew that I couldn't wait any longer. He could have. he would have killed all of the hostages before any other units arrived. I had to stop him. I moved to the door and gently eased it open. He didn't see me, didn't react until I called for him to drop his weapon. He raised his gun so I fired, two shots and he went down."  
  
"I moved in and checked the room and the hostages, they were mostly in shock but one or two of them thanked me." This memory also provoked some emotion as a tear rolled down each cheek. Steve ignored them and carried on speaking. "I went to check on the gunman. Once I had established there was no pulse, I put my gun back in it's holster and stood up. A young woman asked me how he was and I told her that she was safe," a small bitter laugh escaped him. "She was safe because he was dead."  
  
Steve closed his eyes, put his head in his hands and rubbed his face, not even noticing the pain from his injured arm. The next part was not going to be easy to tell, he forced the emotion back down and dropped his hands back to his sides.  
  
"I had my back to the door that led to the rear entrance of the clinic but I heard it being kicked open. The man who came through it screaming at me." Steve tried to remember the exact words. "'You bastard, you killed him, the shooting would have stopped there if it hadn't been for you. He wasn't going to shoot anyone else just those two. Now you'll all die.' As he was saying it I turned and drew my gun but it was too late. I got one shot off but then the bullets hit my chest and threw me backwards and I fell to the floor." Steve stopped speaking for a moment, when he started again his voice was much quieter. "There was a moment of silence and then he shouted "You're all gonna die and you can thank the cop, but don't worry he's already beat you to hell." And then the shots and the screams started and I must have blacked out." Steve clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. "When I came round there was silence, perfect peace. I got to my knees I wanted to help them but they were all dead. May God forgive me I only wanted to help them."  
  
There was silence in the room as Dr Carter and Lieutenant Stiles took in the account. Dr Carter was moved to tears, no wonder Steve was carrying such guilt. They had all assumed that he had felt responsible because he thought he had done something wrong but it was far crueller than that. Whoever, the other gunman had been, Hughes' brother from what Steve had just said, he had transferred the guilt for the deaths on to Steve. If the words he had spoken were true, and there was no way they would ever know if it was or not, then Steve's presence, his shooting of Robert Hughes, had been responsible for the deaths of the other hostages. He wasn't at fault, he had done what any other officer would have done in the circumstances and could not be blamed, but, despite the fact that he had done nothing wrong, he would still have to come to terms with the fact that, had he not been there, they might not have died.  
  
This was going to be a lot tougher than Dr Carter had originally thought, she had hoped that it would be just a case of convincing Steve that his actions were justified. In getting him to talk they had won one battle but they were a long way off winning the war. She needed to get him back to Community General so that she could try to help him through this, but given the story he had just told them she was unsure if she would be able to convince him to even see his lawyer. Steve's next comment confirmed her fears.  
  
"So now you know," he said quietly to Stiles, "You can tell the families." Then he turned to look at her. "Now I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone, I'm tired."  
  
Dr Carter wasn't sure how to continue but she knew that to allow Steve to fall back into apathy now could still see him withdraw completely. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
One of the prison guards entered. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said apologetically, "but I'm afraid I've got some urgent news for Mr. Sloan." He waited for Steve to respond when he didn't he carried on anyway. " I'm sorry but it's about your father," At that Steve looked up. "He was a passenger in a car that was involved in a serious car accident," the guard continued. " Some sort of hit and run, he's been taken to Community General Hospital." 


	15. Did No One Tell You?

Author's note:- fairly short because I am ridiculously busy this week but wanted to post something, besides I think some of you missed the implications of the last cliffhanger!!  
  
Part 15 Did No One Tell You..?  
  
Steve looked at the guard his face completely blank for a moment and then he asked. "How badly is he hurt?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't know," the guard said sympathetically, "I'll come back as soon as I know more." He nodded in acknowledgment to the two other people in the room and left.  
  
Dr. Carter was appalled, to deliver such news to someone in as fragile a physical and mental condition as Steve without some clinical consultation was unconscionable. She was sure that Dr. Williams had not been asked before the guard had been sent to see Steve. For a start, he would have waited until he was sure that she and Lieutenant Stiles had finished. He knew what they were attempting and the implications any interruption could have both on Steve's mental state and their chances of success, especially an interruption of this sort. He would also have checked on Steve's condition before telling him anything and, finally, he would have waited until he knew how Mark was, knowing that uncertainty, under the circumstances, was even worse than knowing that the news was bad.  
  
She watched Steve carefully, it was too late to take back what had been said to him, all she could do was to see how he reacted and try to help him all she could.  
  
Steve's thoughts became suddenly and startlingly clear, from the tumble of emotion that had been impossible to sort, there now came only one emotion that mattered, fear.  
  
The strength of the fear for his father's safety, overwhelmed all other feelings, made everything else seem unimportant. As the emotion forced an injection of adrenaline into his system he became focused in a way that had been beyond him for days, too wrapped up in his own torment to acknowledge the world around him. Now, all that mattered was seeing and talking to his father again, making sure that he was all right.  
  
His mind worked rapidly, for the first time really taking note of where he was, as he tried to piece together the information he needed so that he could work out how to get to his father. He had vague recollections of having been asked if he wanted to see his lawyer, of being asked to sign bail requests and of refusing. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do. Now he was bitter in the regret of his actions, but maybe it wasn't too late. If his lawyer could be contacted maybe he could yet get out of this nightmare position so that he could be with his father. He looked over at Dr. Carter. "Please," he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I need to get out of here. I need to get back to Community General. I need to find out how my father is." He paused searching her expression for signs that she would help him. "Could you get hold of my lawyer John Parkes for me?"  
  
Dr. Carter nodded. "I'll get on to it straight away," she felt the relief wash over her. It looked like, at least for the time being, the shock had pulled Steve out of his withdrawal rather than pushing him deeper into it. Whether that would last, would depend on how badly Mark was hurt. She was painfully aware that this had followed so closely on Steve's enforced memory of what happened at the clinic that he had not had time to deal with that. Still, the fact that she would be able to get him back to Community General and away from a prison system that seemed intent on destroying him, would help.  
  
"I'll write up what you told me in a statement," Stiles said. "And in light of what happened I'll see if I can get the DA to drop the charges," he added, as Steve turned to look at him.  
  
"Thank you," Steve acknowledged, not really processing the implications of what the Lieutenant had said. The fact that Stiles felt there were no longer charges to be answered, to a logical, rational mind would have brought some sort of relief, but Steve's emotional state, even if he had been in a position to consider it, precluded any rational thought, especially when it came to the incident at the clinic.  
  
For the time being all thoughts and emotions, except for those which had a direct bearing upon his ability to reach Mark, were placed on hold. The only thing of importance was to get to him, find out how he was and, if necessary, provide support and comfort. Anything not involved in achieving this goal was an irrelevance.  
  
Dr. Carter pressed the nurses call button, it was important that she do as Steve asked but she did not want to leave him alone. When the young nurse arrived she and Lieutenant Stiles joined the young woman on the corridor. "Lieutenant Sloan has just had some bad news and I don't want him left alone," she said authoritatively, "I'll clear this with Dr. Williams, in the meantime could you stay with him and if there are any problems at all get Dr. Williams down here straight away."  
  
The young woman nodded and entered the room to sit with the silent man who seemed dazed rather than thoughtful, she guessed it was something to do with the bad news whatever it was. She had been too busy studying recently, she was almost fully qualified now, to have watched the news or read any papers. What little she had read about the Hillside Clinic massacre, had not been enough to allow her to connect the name of the patient with the events that had occurred. As she sat and waited and watched him, she could not help but wonder what had happened to give so handsome a face such sad eyes.  
  
  
  
Nathan listened to one side of the conversation as Amanda spoke to Mark Deakin on the phone.  
  
"Yes I understand," she said "And you're sure."  
  
It was the third time that she had asked him to confirm or repeat what he had said. So Nathan had already concluded that his answers were not what she had expected.  
  
She listened again. "Yes, and thank you for taking the time to call me." She concluded the call and placed the handset back into its cradle, but she did not let go of it, instead she stood looking thoughtful, holding on to it as though she had forgotten to move, oblivious to the fact that there was anyone else in the room.  
  
Nathan stood and watched her for as long as he could contain his curiosity. "Well?" he eventually asked.  
  
Amanda turned at the sound of his voice and shook her head slightly to pull herself back to focus on the room instead of the train of thought she had been following.  
  
"What did he say?" Nathan elaborated his question.  
  
"He said that the bullet he tested," she replied, "The bullet I removed from the eighth victim I autopsied, Gary Ward, did not come from the same gun as the rest."  
  
  
  
Steve tried hard to remember the last time he had seen his father. The last clear memory he had, the last ordinary memory he had, was breakfast on Saturday morning. As usual he had been running late and didn't have time for much.  
  
"Thanks dad," he said grabbing a cup of coffee.  
  
"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Mark had asked in his usual exacerbated tone.  
  
Steve had been about to say no, that he didn't have the time, when he caught the look on his father's face. It had been the same look that he had been giving him since he was a teenager the 'I don't really approve but it's your choice, so I'm not going to say anything' look. As usual it worked.  
  
Steve sighed, "OK maybe just a piece of toast," he said grabbing one and briefly taking a seat.  
  
"So are we still on for tonight," Mark asked, turning from the eggs he was fixing to look at his son.  
  
Steve swallowed the huge mouthful of toast that he had been chewing. "Looking forward to it," he answered smiling. "It's been too long since we've had any time to spend together."  
  
"Can you still make it home for six?" Mark asked, half expecting Steve to give a negative response.  
  
Steve swallowed again, "Count on it. I've promised the Captain that I'll clear up my backlog of paperwork today and, in return, he's promised not to give me any new cases until Monday morning."  
  
Mark had made it over to the table and was transferring the eggs from the pan to his plate as Steve pushed the last of his piece of toast into his mouth and washed it down with coffee without chewing it properly. "You know.." Mark began.  
  
"If I eat like that I'll give myself indigestion," Steve completed the familiar admonishment.  
  
Mark smiled, "I've used that before, huh."  
  
"Only a thousand times," Steve said his voice full of amusement. "But I wouldn't have it any other way." He looked at his watch. "Now I really have to go or I'm going to be late."  
  
"OK I'll see you this evening," Mark had called to Steve's retreating back.  
  
That was the last time Steve remembered any clear interaction with his father. Everything that followed was too wrapped up with nightmare images and out of control emotions. Guilt and grief and anguish had permeated every minute, since the bullets had hit him in the clinic. Physical and mental pain that twisted around his soul and distorted everything, including the images and memories of his father. He fought his way through them. Suddenly, remembering their recent interactions became important to him.  
  
He tried to separate the images from the emotion. It was an impossible task but he tried anyway.  
  
He had a hazy recollection of his father talking to him at the clinic, his gentle concern had been too much to take and Steve remembered pulling away from him, remembered the shock and the pain he had caused, he had seen it in his father's eyes as he had glanced up at him.  
  
The next recollection was almost as painful. When he had woken in the hospital, his father had been there but he couldn't recall talking to him, he had only been interested in his own guilt, his own pain and had not considered how this must be affecting those around him Now as he looked back he could see the anxiety and concern he must have caused. He remembered how Mark had had to tell him that he was going to be arrested and realised how painfully difficult that must have been for him.  
  
The thing that struck him most though, as he forced the memories of the last few days, was the change in his father's appearance. It was an old cliché that worry would cause you to age, but in his father's case it had appeared to be true. Steve remembered with a disturbing clarity the difference in his father's appearance between when he had seen him on Saturday morning, when he was his usual jovial, sprightly self, and when he had come to tell him about his arrest. He had looked so much older, his face lined with worry. Steve felt guilty again, this time for the anxiety he must have caused to those who loved him, but this was a different sort of guilt. There was something he could do about this, if he could sort himself out, then his father would have no reason to worry.  
  
That's if he was still alive. The stray thought caught Steve by surprise and rekindled the fear and foreboding that had gripped him when he had first heard the news of the accident. It took him a moment to regain control as his intestines contracted, causing a deep knot in the pit of his stomach.  
  
He vowed to himself that if his father was all right then he would sort himself out. Do whatever was necessary to deal with the unresolved emotions that he knew he was ignoring. Right now though all he could do was wait.  
  
  
  
"A different gun," Nathan repeated, "But we only found.."  
  
"One gun at the scene," Amanda concluded for him. "Which means that our mystery man at the clinic was not only there, he was also involved in the shootings and took one of the guns away with him." Amanda had had a couple of minutes head start on considering the implications so she continued. "If Mark hadn't been suspicious and already figured out that there was a second person at the clinic."  
  
"Then the bullet and subsequently missing gun would have been the only indication that Hughes was not alone," Nathan said rapidly catching up on the thinking. "Which is why someone wanted that bullet to go missing. In a few days the insides of the clinic would have been ripped out for refurbishments and, given the time of year, the evidence on the bank would probably have washed away."  
  
"But it's not as if we wouldn't have found out eventually, I mean, even with all the evidence missing, we could still do what we did and ask the person who carried out the test."  
  
"Unless," Nathan suggested, "Mark Deakin was supposed to meet with a little accident before he got the chance."  
  
Amanda looked at him. "That's a bit of a stretch."  
  
"Not really," Nathan said. "I spoke to the deputy who went out to the Motel to find Deakin, he reported a comment the receptionist had made since it seemed unusual. She said that there had been someone else there asking about the same man and wanted to know what sort of trouble he was in. If Mark hadn't already figured that the second guy was there.. Well maybe this mystery man was covering his tracks."  
  
Amanda was about to reply when the page came for her to go to the ER. As a pathologist she only got paged to go there when there had been a suspicious death or when someone she was close to had been in an accident. As her stomach knotted in fear that it may be the latter she moved quickly towards the door.  
  
  
  
Dr. Carter had spent her time filling Dr. Williams in on the latest developments and sorting out with John Parkes to secure Steve's release. Dr. Williams had gone to check on Steve's condition, whilst she had gone to help with the paperwork. By the time she arrived back there was an argument going on.  
  
"Well then I'll walk out of here A.M.A as soon as my bail comes through." Steve was saying.  
  
"Look I've explained." Dr. Williams began, but stopped and tried a different tactic as soon as Dr. Carter entered. "Ah, Dr. Carter, perhaps you could explain to Steve why even though he has to wait until 10pm at the earliest for an ambulance to take him back to Community General, he would still be better waiting for it."  
  
Dr. Carter didn't get a chance to say anything as Steve spoke again. "Dr. Williams," there was an icy determination in his voice. "My father has been hurt, I have no idea how badly. There is nothing on this earth that would stop me from going to him, or being separated from him for one moment more than is necessary. If I have to walk out of here in a gown carrying my chest drain, then I will do it." Steve looked into the doctor's eyes and softened his tone slightly. "Just help me get back to Community General and I promise I'll get Jesse to admit me as soon as I get there."  
  
Dr. Carter weighed up the situation and decided that her best option was to support Steve. "I can drive him over," she said.  
  
Dr. Williams looked at her then back at Steve. "All right," he relented. "The drain has been clear for over 36 hours now. I suppose I can take it out. I'll take care of it."  
  
  
  
Less than an hour later Steve sat silently as a passenger in Dr. Carter's car. They had been able to gain very little information about Mark's condition other than the fact that he was in the OR and they were waiting for the results of some blood tests.  
  
This left Steve pensive and quiet for the journey, but Dr. Carter was fairly sure that it was concern that was keeping him that way. For the time being at least, worries about him becoming totally withdrawn could be suspended.  
  
When they arrived at the hospital Amanda was waiting in the parking lot for them with a wheelchair. Once Steve was settled into it she crouched down to eye level so that she could talk to him.  
  
"Any news, How is he?" Steve asked.  
  
"No news on either of them I'm afraid," Amanda replied "Mark's still in the OR and Jesse.."  
  
"Jesse?!" Steve interrupted sharply.  
  
Amanda looked at Steve's confused expression. "Yes Steve, did no one tell you. Your dad was a passenger but Jesse was driving." 


	16. What Really Matters

Part 16 What Really Matters  
  
There was a moments silence Steve stared uncomprehendingly at his friend, whilst his brain tried to process the fact that Jesse had been hurt too. That thought stood alone for a second and then, like a floodgate opening, a myriad of questions assaulted his senses. He did his best to sort them. He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on regaining control  
  
Amanda remained crouched watching his expression, wishing that she had realised that he did not know about Jesse, she could have broken it to him more gently, waited until they knew more. Instead the blunt delivery was just one more shock to a friend who had already had too many.  
  
Steve focused his blue eyes on her, "How did it happen?" He asked quietly.  
  
Amanda was suddenly aware that they were still on the parking lot and it was getting cold. She needed to get Steve to somewhere more comfortable, besides they were too exposed. If someone from the press spotted Steve here then all hell would break loose and that was the last thing he needed right now. "Let's get inside," she replied. "And I'll tell you what I know."  
  
Steve nodded very slightly and made to get up to move inside, momentarily forgetting his position. Amanda pushed him gently back down, "Hey you get to ride in," she said with a forced smile. Steve nodded again and sat back.  
  
"All I know is that their car came off the freeway and rolled onto an on ramp," Amanda said once they were settled in the doctor's lounge. She knew it was pointless trying to get Steve to let them admit him until he knew how his father and his friend were. He had insisted on getting out of the wheelchair and now sat leaning on one of the tables, his injured arm held protectively across his chest.  
  
"The car rolled over?" Steve asked, his mind suddenly filled with hundreds of painful images of accidents that he had attended when he had been in uniform. Ones where the cars rolled on to the roof were amongst the worst and Jesse had a convertible.  
  
Amanda caught the fear in his voice, "Hey, remember Jesse brought that new BMW with the rollover protection system," she said, trying to provide a reassurance that she did not feel herself. "He went on about it's safety features for weeks," she added smiling as she remembered her young friend's enthusiasm.  
  
It was true, Steve remembered it too. Jesse had spoken about little else at the time, apart from how safe his new car was. He had seen first hand too many times the sort of injuries that could be sustained in an accident and so it had been an important selling point of the vehicle that he had finally brought, that it had the latest state of the art safety features and, as with everything Jesse did, he made sure that all of those around him knew everything about it in excruciating detail. Steve smiled himself at the memory of Jesse's exuberance. "Yeah, 'bout drove us all crazy," he said.  
  
"Until you threatened to test out the safety features by ramming it with your truck," Amanda continued caught up in the pleasant memory of her friends' light banter.  
  
"He didn't actually shut up until I finally went out and started it up and revved the engine though," Steve recalled. "I'll never forgot the expression on his face as he stood in front of his car trying to figure out how serious I was."  
  
Amanda had been there that day and had witnessed the chase out to the vehicles, Jesse yelling after Steve "You wouldn't." He had stopped as he had drawn level with her. "He wouldn't would he?" he'd asked, and then without waiting for a reply he'd rushed out after his friend and business partner, leaving her to follow. She and Mark had watched with amusement as the two friends ended in a standoff. Steve in his truck inching towards Jesse's car, Jesse using his body to shield his precious new vehicle. It had only ended when Jesse had promised not to mention the car's safety features ever again. Sometimes the two behaved more like teenagers than grown men.  
  
The two remained lost in the memory for a couple of minutes before the reality of how it had been triggered struck Steve. His expression darkened, "So come on Amanda- you must have seen them when they came in," he said looking her in the eye. "How bad are they?"  
  
Amanda sighed. "All I know is that they both had head injures and were unconscious when they were brought into the ER. There were cuts and lacerations as well but I didn't see how bad." She squeezed Steve's hand again. "They'll let us know as soon as they can," she added. "Meanwhile Nathan's trying to get details of the accident."  
  
There was silence for a few moments. "I'll fix us some coffee," Amanda said, suddenly needing to do something.  
  
Amanda had been watching Steve carefully since she had met him in the car park. Dr. Carter had filled her in on his condition before she had arrived and, knowing him as well as she did, Amanda had not been surprised that, for the time being, his only concern was for his father.  
  
Dr. Carter, who had accompanied them to the doctor's lounge but had stayed in the background, just observing, moved to join Amanda by the sink. "How do you think he's doing?" Amanda quietly asked her colleagues opinion as they both turned to look at Steve. He was staring at the table in front of him.  
  
"I was about to ask you that," Dr. Carter replied. "You know him better than anyone."  
  
Amanda considered the question. "It's always difficult with Steve," she said quietly. "He bottles so much up inside." She paused for a moment before adding. "But he'll be there for his dad no matter what happens."  
  
"I just hope Mark's OK" Dr. Carter said. "For his sake and for Steve's"  
  
  
  
Nathan stood and watched as the wrecked BMW was hauled on to the tow truck.  
  
"It's a miracle they weren't killed you know,"  
  
Nathan turned to look at the young highway patrolman who stood next to him. "How so?" He asked.  
  
The young man pointed back down the freeway. "The car came off about 100 yards back there. You can see where the skid mark starts. It went down the bank and rolled over twice and ended up on it's roof in the path of oncoming traffic." He pointed and gestured with his hands as he spoke. "The miracle is that all of the cars coming up the on ramp managed to avoid it. If any of them had hit it." He pointed at the car. "That model is fitted with a rollover protection system and front and side impact airbags. Without those the injuries would have been much worse. The only unfortunate thing is that the car rolled twice and an airbag will only protect you once."  
  
"Do we know what caused it?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Yes did no one tell you?"  
  
Nathan shook his head. He had come straight from the hospital without waiting to pick up any of the preliminary reports.  
  
"Someone shot the driver," the patrolman stated.  
  
  
  
Byron was pacing up and down, he was angry and what was worse he didn't have a focus for his anger and that made his friend very nervous.  
  
Peter Watkins was a small time crook who had hooked up with Byron because it had seemed like a good idea at the time. He had known that Byron was smart and ruthless and Watkins hoped that by teaming up with him he would gain both money and protection. By the time he found out what Byron was really like it had been too late, he was too afraid to break the ties. So now he worked for the man, mostly driving, and he was reasonably well rewarded for his efforts, but whether that compensated for living in constant fear was another matter.  
  
"How could they not die?" Byron stopped his pacing and turned on Peter. "Tell me. You saw the accident. You saw how many bullets I put into the side of the car." Each sentence brought him closer to his companion. Each sentence was louder than the last. "They were in a convertible that rolled into oncoming traffic. So how come they're not dead?" The last question was asked with his face only inches away.  
  
"I.. I don't know," Peter stammered, flinching in case his lack of a reasonable explanation caused the other man to hit him.  
  
Instead Byron pulled back. "Of course you don't." He said resuming his pacing. "First the cop and now his father. Dammit they should have died." He kicked a chair so hard that it flew into one of the walls and one of it's wooden legs splintered.  
  
Peter flinched again, trying hard to think of something to say that might calm the other man down. The fact that one of the men they were talking about had killed his half brother was not going to make that an easy task. Then an idea occurred to him. "Maybe they weren't meant to die," he said.  
  
Byron turned sharply and looked at him. His eyes narrowed. "What?"  
  
"No, hear me out," Peter said standing up and moving towards his companion. "I mean shooting them, it's a bit too quick isn't it? A bit too easy for them to die like that after what they've done."  
  
"Go on," Byron said, calming a little.  
  
"I mean that cop, he deserves to suffer more doesn't he? He killed your brother. He should pay for that right?"  
  
Byron walked over to him and Peter tensed, unsure as to how his suggestion would be received, but he needn't have worried. Byron patted him on the back. "You are so right my friend," he said grinning. "You are so right."  
  
  
  
Despite the pain in his ribs Steve stood when Dr. Bill Taylor entered but the doctor would not speak until they were all sitting down again.  
  
"OK I'll start with Mark," he said, "First you should know that he's going to be fine." There was a noticeable release of tension round the table, "but it is going to take him some time to recover. He had a compound fracture of the right arm. It was resetting that that took so long in the OR and he also has a mild concussion but his CT scans came back clear and although there was some nasty bruising, there were no internal injuries."  
  
"Can I see him?" Steve asked.  
  
"He's in recovery now, we'll be transferring him into a room in about half an hour, you can see him then." Dr. Taylor replied. He looked at him critically. "Although from the looks of you I should be admitting you too." Steve was about to protest but Dr. Taylor held up his hand. "No arguments and I'll make sure that you and your father are put in the same room."  
  
Steve nodded his agreement. "What about Jesse?" He asked.  
  
Dr. Taylor looked a little less comfortable. "I'm afraid Dr. Travis is still in a critical condition. The gunshot hit him in the left arm and he lost a lot of blood but..."  
  
"Gunshot?" Amanda interrupted, echoing the confusion around the table. "I thought he was in a car crash?"  
  
Dr. Taylor looked around at the confused expressions and tried to explain. "He was, but apparently the cause of the crash was Dr. Travis being shot. The bullet wound wasn't that bad but at some point in the crash he suffered a severe blow to the left temple, that coupled with the blood loss.." He let the sentence trail off as he allowed everyone to digest the information. "We've moved him to ICU and I'll let you know if there is any change."  
  
  
  
An hour later Steve sat at his father's bedside watching him sleep. The irony of the role reversal was not lost on him. How many times had his father had to sit in this position, watching him, waiting for him to wake up after he had sustained some injury or other. He tried to count them up but stopped when he got to double figures, knowing that there were still many that he hadn't counted.  
  
He idly wondered if his father always felt as bad as he did now. Wondered how his father managed to cope with the many hours of uncertainty that always came before this point. He knew that he would not want to go through the last few hours again. Was it always this painful or did you get used to it? Then he remembered the look in his father's eyes on the numerous occasions that he had been there when he had woken up, and realised that it probably never did. In fact, if anything, it probably hurt more each time as the faith that everything would be all right was tested over and over.  
  
"I'm sorry dad," he said quietly, not even realising that he'd spoken aloud  
  
"Steve?" the voice came shakily, hesitantly from the bed.  
  
Steve snapped himself back from his thoughts. The relief at hearing his father speak again was incredible, and tears formed in his eyes as he looked at his battered appearance, and it truly hit home how close he had come to never hearing it again "I'm here dad" he said, moving over to the bed and holding eye contact.  
  
Mark was having trouble orienting himself, he was confused. Where was he? Why was he here? What had happened? He struggled to sit up and gasped at the pain of the movement.  
  
"Shh It's OK, lie still," Steve said gently, "You were in an accident, you need to give yourself a little time."  
  
Mark rested back at the soothing words and looked up at his son. His memories were jumbled but there was something wrong with the fact that he was there. Something told him that, for some reason, Steve should not be there, but he couldn't figure out why. Confused and frustrated at his own inability to remember he asked the question. "How.." he began, "Why are you here?"  
  
Steve felt a brief stab of pain that his father would ask such a thing, and then, recognising the confusion in the older man's eyes, he put the question into perspective. Last time his father had been conscious he had been a prisoner. "They told me you'd been in an accident," he explained softly. "I had to get back. I had to be here to make sure that you were all right."  
  
Mark nodded briefly satisfied and then the memories started to return, the clinic, the massacre, Steve's anguished state, the press, the arrest, everything from the last few days suddenly became clear. He took a moment to sort his ideas and then looked at his son, new concerns in his eyes. "Steve?" he said, suddenly not believing that he was actually there. Had he hit his head so hard that he was delusional?  
  
"Yes," Steve said, reacting as his father gripped his hand more tightly, almost desperately. "It's OK dad I'm here."  
  
"But the clinic.. the arrest?" Mark asked still not quite believing that his son was with him.  
  
The emotions that were dragged up with those four small words were almost overwhelming but Steve refused to acknowledge them, forced them back into his subconscious. For the moment there was only one thing that mattered.  
  
"Don't worry about that," Steve said, managing to keep his tone reassuring. "We'll worry about that when you're well enough."  
  
"But.." Mark started to protest.  
  
"Dad," Steve interrupted, "It's OK, really it's OK," He repeated. "I promise we'll sort it out."  
  
Mark looked at his son and realised what he was trying to do. He was maintaining control for him. After everything he had been through Mark knew, without a doubt, that his son was holding himself together so that he would not worry. The mixture of emotions as he realised that Steve was truly back with him and the reasons why caused tears to form in his eyes.  
  
Steve watched as his father suddenly seemed to get upset. "Dad?" He asked his concern deepening, "Are you in pain? Shall I call a nurse?" He reached across for the call button.  
  
"No," Mark managed to say past the lump in his throat, "I'm just glad you're here."  
  
Steve relaxed a little, "always."  
  
Mark looked at his son critically, his skin was still pale and he held his injured arm across his chest, protecting it and his damaged ribs. His breathing was shallow but controlled and he had an IV connected to the back of his hand. Mark turned his head to see the empty bed next to them. "Steve shouldn't you be in bed?"  
  
For the first time since his father had woken Steve smiled. "Yes," he admitted, "But I wanted to make sure that you were all right first."  
  
"You can still talk to me from there you know," Mark said, his meaning clear.  
  
"I know," Steve replied but he made no effort to move, somehow even the few feet to his bed seemed too far to be separated from his father at the moment. "I'll go back soon, I promise."  
  
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. It was Mark who broke it. "What are you sorry for?" He asked.  
  
The question took Steve by surprise and a confused look crossed his face.  
  
"When I woke up," Mark elaborated. "You said you were sorry."  
  
Steve should have realised that his father would have noticed that. He swallowed. "Sitting there waiting for you to wake up," he said hesitantly, "I started to realise some of what I must have put you through over the years." He paused, tears glistening in his eyes as he remembered the raw emotions, the uncertainty, the pain, the love, the agony of waiting. "I never meant to." He tried to continue but his voice cracked, weighed down with the emotion of a hundred apologies that he felt he owed his father for the pain he had caused him over the years. He reached out and gripped Mark's hand squeezing it tightly. "I'm sorry." He repeated struggling once again to maintain control.  
  
Mark was deeply moved, rarely did Steve express his emotions so freely, rarely did he allow anything to penetrate his surface veneer. "You have nothing to feel sorry for son," Mark said. "What you do is part of who you are and I wouldn't have it any other way."  
  
The next silence was much longer as the two men became lost in their own thoughts. Again it was Mark who broke it. "The accident?" He asked "What happened?"  
  
"You don't remember?"  
  
Mark shook his head. "Last thing I remember is annoying Amanda up in her lab." He looked across at his son. "I was pacing," he explained, smiling.  
  
Steve smiled back, yes, that was sure to annoy his friend, especially if she was trying to work. "That would do it," he said, then his expression became more serious. "You left the hospital in Jesse's car.."  
  
"Oh God was he in the accident too?" Mark interrupted, knowing the answer before his son replied, his expression gave it away. "Is he hurt?"  
  
Steve drew in a deep breath, "The accident was caused when somebody shot him as you were driving along the freeway. I'm afraid he's still critical." He replied quietly.  
  
  
  
Nathan caught up with Amanda in the doctors' lounge and quickly got an update on everyone's condition.  
  
"So what have you found out?" she asked.  
  
Nathan indicated the folder on the table. "There wasn't much at the scene of the accident, plenty of witnesses saw Jesse's car go off the road but we haven't found anyone yet who remembers clearly the car that the gunman was in, but we can be sure of why they were targeted."  
  
Amanda had opened the report and was reading. It was a ballistics report on the bullets taken from Jesse and his car, and they had a positive match. "It was the same gun that was used to kill Gary Ward at the clinic?" She asked unable to quite believe it.  
  
"Yes, whoever the mystery second person at the clinic is, they just tried to kill Mark and Jesse." Nathan confirmed.  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Presumably they don't want them investigating. Whatever the reason, Captain Newman's putting a police guard on both of their rooms."  
  
Amanda nodded, "Well I've been checking back through my autopsy reports and the other person who died from a gunshot to the head could also have been killed with the same gun. The bullet I retrieved from his skull was too badly damaged to do a ballistics match on it."  
  
"That would confirm what Lieutenant Sloan told us." The voice came from behind.  
  
Both of them turned to see Lieutenant Stiles, he moved to join them at the table. "Forgive me for interrupting but I've come down here to see if I can help." He dropped a report on the table and sighed, heavily, "I've just come from the assistant DA's office. I tried to get her to drop the charges against Steve in light of his new statement, but apparently the case is too 'politically sensitive' to drop it now without going to trial." He looked at each of the people sitting at the table. His voice was bitter when he continued. "She also said, although she would of course deny it, that the 'facts' were not as important as the public perception and that justice had to be seen to be done. I'm supposed to make sure that this statement is 'kept under wraps' for the time being. I didn't bother pointing out to her that Dr. Carter was there and heard it as well."  
  
"In other words she still has every intention of hanging Steve out to dry?" Nathan asked.  
  
Stiles nodded. "Steve did what every other officer would have done given the same circumstances- You'll see when you read it, and yet she seems hell bent on still prosecuting for negligence." He paused "Well I'm going to do everything I can to help you make sure it doesn't get that far," he continued with conviction. He looked down for a moment before facing the gaze of the other two again, needing to explain his actions. "You should have seen what it cost him to get this out, and she's going to make him relive it all again at a trial. You can't let that happen. It will destroy him." 


	17. Tangled Webs

Part 17 Tangled Webs.  
  
Amanda walked into Steve and Mark's room and stopped. Mark was asleep and Steve was standing staring out of the window. She walked up behind him, trying hard not to startle him. "Steve," she finally said, speaking softly.  
  
"My father three times, the nurse twice and my ribs every minute." Steve stated.  
  
Amanda did not reply straight away as she tried to understand the comment.  
  
Steve turned to look at her. "Telling me I should get into bed," he explained. "That is what you were going to say, isn't it?"  
  
Amanda smiled at him as she realised that would have been her first comment. "Yes," she admitted, "But only because it's good advice."  
  
Steve smiled and turned back to stare out of the window once more. "In a minute," he said quietly.  
  
"And how long have you been saying that for?" Amanda asked.  
  
Steve looked down at the floor and then back up out of the window. "About an hour," he confessed. There was silence for a while.  
  
Amanda watched him. It didn't look like he was going to move and he had already had a traumatic enough day without putting more stress on his system. "I know you don't like hospitals Steve.. " she began.  
  
"It's not that," Steve interrupted, knowing that a discussion would follow, a discussion he did not really want to have. "I just.." He hesitated, all of his emotions were still too close to the surface. "I.." He shook his head, he couldn't continue, couldn't explain to his friend the irrationality of his feelings at the moment. Getting into the bed made him feel trapped, helpless and he wasn't sure that he knew himself why that was. Maybe it was being trapped in the restraints in the jail ward, maybe it was waking to the nightmares and the pain. He didn't really want to analyse it, he just knew that he didn't want to lie down at the moment. He forced himself to regain his composure. "In a minute," he repeated.  
  
Amanda watched him, watched the struggle for control and decided to drop the issue for the time being. She had read through the statement that he had given to Lieutenant Stiles and Dr. Carter and now had a better idea of what he was trying to come to terms with Being pushed into an argument was the last thing he needed. "How's your dad doing?" She asked, changing the subject.  
  
Steve turned again this time to look over to where his father was sleeping. "You know dad," Steve smiled affectionately. "Worse patient than me." He thought about it for a moment. "He's been awake a couple of times and he seems OK. I think he's more worried about me and Jesse than he is about himself, and, last time he was awake he spent about half an hour trying to figure out who would have a motive to shoot at them." Steve turned to look Amanda in the eye. "In other words, typical Mark Sloan," again the affectionate, almost wistful look returned.  
  
Amanda smiled back, pleased that her friend was going to be all right.  
  
"What about Jesse?" Steve asked. "How is he?"  
  
"No change I'm afraid," she answered sadly. "They're running some more tests."  
  
"Can I see him?" Steve asked.  
  
"Steve you shouldn't."  
  
"Amanda, he's my best friend," Steve interrupted her protest. "The only times I've seen him in the past few days he's been trying to help me and I've virtually ignored him. There are some things that I want. need to say to him." He paused for a moment. "If he should.If he doesn't.." But he couldn't finish that thought. "Please Amanda."  
  
"Steve it's all right, he understood.."  
  
"Please Amanda." Steve repeated.  
  
She looked at him. "All right," she said, "but when we get back you must promise to get into bed." Steve nodded. "I'll get a wheelchair," she said and left the room.  
  
  
  
Nathan had gone back to the station, there were several lines of enquiry that he had started to run and he wanted to find out if he had any replies to his requests for information. The situation was given more urgency by the realisation that the person they were looking for had just tried to kill Dr. Sloan and Dr. Travis.  
  
As he drove he glanced down at the seat next to him, on it was a copy of Steve's statement that Lieutenant Stiles had given to him. It made fairly harrowing reading and Nathan couldn't help but put himself in Steve's position and try to decide what he would have done. He realised that, as the Lieutenant had said, he and most of the other officers he knew would have reacted in the same way. They would have tried to stop the apparently crazed man from killing anyone else and the outcome would have ultimately been the same. He also knew that had it been him, he would have been blaming himself for the other deaths just as Steve had.  
  
He considered what Stiles had told him about the assistant DA. She clearly had a political agenda to fulfil. There had been little letup in the publicity surrounding the case and even though the incident had happened four days ago, it was still making the headlines of most news bulletins, a new piece of information emerging every day, the event itself, the arrest of Mary Ryland's father, Steve's arrest, Steve's release on bail and, no doubt, tomorrow's headlines would be full of speculation about the accident involving Steve's father. For a press that could normally spin out even the scantest pieces of information into a story, this whole incident must have seemed like Christmas.  
  
Nathan debated leaking Steve's statement to the press but there were too many quantities that could not be controlled if he did that. First, Lieutenant Stiles would almost certainly get into trouble. He had disobeyed an order in passing the statement on, but an internal leak to another department was one thing, a public leak would be quite another. Secondly, once the information was in the public domain, they would have no say in how it was used. Although, thanks to Mark, they had some evidence to corroborate Steve's story, there was still only his word for how the events had unfolded. The very fact that he had taken so long to give his statement could be construed as him giving himself time to make up a story that fitted the evidence.  
  
Nathan could see how the DA could easily suggest that Steve's version of events were false and he had, in fact, gone into the clinic, knowing that there were two gunmen, in some misguided attempt to become a hero. She could argue that when Steve went in, two of the hostages were shot in the head by one of the gunmen whilst the other killed the rest of the hostages by spraying the room, hitting Steve in the process. This version also fitted the evidence and, it could be argued, was more likely than the one Steve had given. Given Steve's mental state, he was unlikely to be able to hold up under cross examination and even if he could, there was still only his word on how events had occurred. It would come down to a jury, likely biased by the media, to make a decision.  
  
In fact, considering it logically, there were lots of things about Steve's statement that still did not make sense, like, why, if there were two gunmen, was one of them hiding in the backroom? Why was Robert Hughes behaving like he was crazy when he had no history of mental illness and he had no drugs in his system? Why did he randomly start shooting the hostages? And why go to the trouble of swapping weapons after killing everyone there? Plenty of things for the DA to question and make people doubt Steve's honesty.  
  
Nathan knew that releasing this statement to the press before they could answer these questions would only result in the trial coming a little earlier, a trial by the media, and since they were already convinced that Steve was guilty, they, like the district attorney, would just do their best to pick holes in and destroy, his version of events.  
  
As he entered the station, he was still deep in thought, only pulled out of his reverie by his name being called.  
  
"Detective Turner." Captain Newman called the young man he had just spotted walking past his office. Nathan turned. "Can I see you in my office please?"  
  
  
  
The closer Amanda got to ICU with Steve, the more she regretted giving in to him. Seeing a patient in an ICU ward was traumatic enough at the best of times. The large amounts of equipment surrounding the beds, keeping the patients alive was daunting. Seeing friends or relatives close to death was a distressing experience and Steve was definitely not in the best position to deal with the emotions that it could instil, but it was too late now, she could not turn back until Steve had had a chance to see Jesse.  
  
She stopped the wheelchair and crouched down so that her eyes were level with his.  
  
"Something wrong?" Steve asked.  
  
"Steve have you ever visited ICU before?" Amanda asked.  
  
"I've been in it several times," Steve replied, confused by the reasons for the questioning.  
  
"Not as a patient, as a visitor?"  
  
"My dad's worked in hospitals ever since I can remember," Steve was still confused, why was Amanda asking? She knew all this. "And I work for the police, I've had occasion to come in here countless times."  
  
"To visit a friend? Someone you love?" Amanda persisted.  
  
Suddenly Steve understood, she was worried about how he would react to seeing Jesse. "No," he replied quietly.  
  
Amanda looked at him, her eyes full of compassion. "It can be really difficult to see someone you care about in there. You need to prepare yourself, " she said, her tone soft. "If it gets too much for you, just let me know."  
  
Steve nodded  
  
"You're sure you want to do this?"  
  
Steve nodded again.  
  
Amanda stood and pushed him through into the room.  
  
If there was any part of Steve that thought Amanda was being over protective, the thought evaporated as they entered Jesse's room and he saw his young friend lying still and pale in the bed, tubes and wires protruding from his body at all angles. His head and shoulder were bandaged and there was an ugly purple bruise around his left eye. A tube led off to a ventilator that hissed in the corner as it helped him to breath. The steady rhythmic bleeping of the heart monitor counterpointing the hissing sound.  
  
Steve's grip on the arms of the chair tightened until his knuckles were white, as he bit back the tears and rode out the tide of emotions that washed through him. He had never seen his young, vibrant friend so still, so quiet. Jesse was a lot shorter than him and younger but he had never looked as small and vulnerable as he did now. Steve felt the frustration, the helplessness at being unable to do anything to help his friend and the deep fear that he would lose him. He could no longer hold back the tears.  
  
Amanda was crouched beside him again. "Do you want to leave, come back later?" She asked, feeling her friend's pain.  
  
Steve bit into his lip and shook his head, "No," he tried to say but it came out as a hoarse whisper. He coughed to clear his throat and pulled his emotions back under control. "Can you move me closer, I need to talk to him."  
  
Amanda did as she was asked.  
  
Steve looked up at her, "Could you give me a few minutes?" He asked.  
  
Amanda looked at him and considered his request, her concern for both of them clear in her eyes, finally she nodded and without saying anything she walked from the room.  
  
Steve turned back to his friend and placed his hand on his arm. "Jess," he said, his voice remarkably calm. "I don't know if you can hear me but there are some things I need to say to you." He took a deep breath as he arranged in his mind the things he wanted to put into words. Things that he would find difficult to express if his friend were awake and looking at him, feelings that he could never, under normal circumstances, put into words, preferring to assume that those around him knew how much he cared for them by his actions. "I want you to know that you're the best friend I ever had," he paused, "No, more than that, you're like the brother I never had. You annoy me, you tease me, sometimes you go out of your way to wind me up, but I always know that you're there for me. That in a crisis I can rely on your help, on your friendship and.." finally Steve's voice began to crack. "I don't think I ever told you how much that means to me. I guess." he paused, "I guess I just assume that you already know. I hope you do."  
  
Steve stopped speaking briefly and looked up at his friend. "Get better Jess, me, dad and Amanda, we all need you."  
  
When Amanda returned a few minutes later Steve was sitting quietly. "You ready to go?" She asked gently. Steve nodded.  
  
He did not speak until the were in the elevator together. "So why the guards?" He asked  
  
Amanda looked questioningly at him. "On Jesse's room, my dad's room. Do they think whoever did this will try again?"  
  
Amanda nodded, "Yes," she replied, not even knowing where to start with the explanation of why they thought that.  
  
When Amanda did not add any explanation, Steve considered the reasons. "It has something to do with what happened Saturday doesn't it?"  
  
Steve was gazing intently up at her, she couldn't possibly lie to him. "Yes," she replied again. At that moment the elevator reached their floor and Amanda was spared having to continue for a few minutes as she pushed Steve back to his room.  
  
  
  
Dr. Michael Evans looked at the caller display on his cell phone and debated not answering it, but he knew that he had to. He pressed the connect button. "What?" he answered somewhat discourteously  
  
The voice at the other end was not phased. "I have something else that I need you to do. We can't afford to have anyone corroborate Lieutenant Sloan's story."  
  
"Look," Evans replied, not hiding the contempt in his voice. "this whole thing has been a complete disaster from the start. Fourteen people are dead, I'm virtually out of business and you can't even take care of one interfering old doctor."  
  
"Don't worry about that, I've told you I will take care of it and I will. You won't have to worry about Dr. Sloan coming after you, but first I need you to do something for me. We need to ensure that the remaining survivors from the clinic don't wake up and back up Sloan's version of events."  
  
"You mean you want me to." Evans didn't want to put the request into words. "No I won't do it."  
  
"What are you getting so squeamish about. You've already killed that pretty little receptionist of yours and, as you so rightly point out, there are thirteen other bodies already on our conscience, a couple more shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"That was different," Evans protested. "Sarah knew too much, she's the only one who could have repaired the silent alarm. I couldn't risk her telling the police about it and, as for the others, it's the incompetent idiots you hired who caused this fiasco, not me."  
  
"Oh but you're so wrong," the voice took on a menacing tone. "If you'd made a better job of disabling that alarm then the police wouldn't have been alerted, and everything would have gone according to plan. So you see you are responsible for all of it." There was a pause. "You are in far too deep to pull out of this now. Either you do what I ask or I will ensure that the 'incompetent idiot' that I hired knows exactly who was responsible for getting his brother killed" The voice was pure ice.  
  
Evans swallowed his mind racing as he considered his options and realised that he didn't have any. He was in too deep, far too deep, and although he regretted ever starting down this path to self destruction, he knew he had no choice but to play it out to the bitter end. "I can maybe get to my patient, Saul Reeve," he conceded. "I've already visited him a few times to keep up appearances, but there's no way I can get to the girl, Linda Wright. She was a friend of my receptionist, I have no reason to visit her. Besides, If they both die after a visit from me then it's going to look far too suspicious."  
  
There was silence whilst the person at the other end considered this more conciliatory stance. "All right, you take care of Reeve, I'll make other arrangements for the girl." The line went dead.  
  
  
  
Mark had woken alone in the room and found that Steve was not there, he had been gripped by panic, convinced that his son had somehow suffered another dreadful set back.  
  
At the same time another part of his mind told him that he had only dreamed Steve's presence and he was still locked away somewhere, this thought did nothing to ease his anxiety. Fortunately he had enough rationality to press the call button and summon the nurse.  
  
"My son, Steve," he asked anxiously. "He should be in the next bed, can you tell me where he is, what's happened?"  
  
The nurse recognised the anxiety and spoke with a reassuring tone. "It's all right, Dr. Bentley took him up to see Dr. Travis in ICU, he should be back soon."  
  
Mark let out a long breath and relaxed back on the pillow letting the tension, that had built up so quickly, dissipate equally rapidly.  
  
"Can I get you anything else?" The nurse had asked.  
  
"Yes, I'd like to see Dr. Carter if she can fit me in," Mark replied.  
  
"I'll call her and see," The nurse said smiling. "Now you try to relax."  
  
  
  
When Steve and Amanda arrived back in the room, Mark was in quiet conversation with Dr. Carter. He had asked her to fill him in on what Steve had told her and she had given him a copy of Steve's statement that Lieutenant Stiles had dropped off for her, she wasn't sure why, but she felt it might be easier on the old doctor if he could read the statement, and take it at his own pace, rather than listen to her account of it.  
  
Mark had read the document in silence. He had had to stop a couple of times to compose himself before he carried on reading. When he got to the end he looked up at her, tears welling in his eyes, unable to avoid empathising with how his son must be feeling. No wonder he had burdened himself with such tremendous feelings of guilt. "How." he had started but had almost immediately faltered, "how do we help him," he eventually managed to add.  
  
Dr. Carter did not answer immediately. "There are no magic solutions," she finally replied, although at that moment she wished that there were, anything to spare these good people more pain. "We just listen and make sure that we're there for him." She added. "He's going to have to come to terms with this himself."  
  
There was little time to say anything else before the door had opened, Amanda pushed Steve into the room as they exchanged greetings. She then helped him back into bed.  
  
"What no protests?" Mark asked as Steve willingly climbed into his bed for the first time since he had awoken.  
  
"Amanda made me promise," Steve said. If he were being truthful he was actually quite grateful for the soft pillows as he wearily dropped back onto them. In all ways that could be measured, mentally, emotionally, physically, he was exhausted, only his anguished state had pushed him to keep functioning. Now that he knew that his dad was going to be all right, now that he had seen Jesse, that drive was rapidly deserting him to leave behind an overwhelming weariness, his injured body and damaged soul crying out for rest. "and I guess I'm a little tired," he admitted as he settled back. He could not surrender to sleep straight away though. He just had to make sure. "How are you feeling dad?" he asked, the concern evident even in his weary tone.  
  
"I'm fine, son," Mark replied, smiling across at him, "but you look like you need some sleep."  
  
Steve nodded and rested his head back, "Just need to rest for a few minutes," he said, his father's words giving him the permission he needed to fall asleep.  
  
Amanda moved over to Mark and spoke quietly, "I'll come back later," she said.  
  
Dr. Carter also took the cue to leave. "I'll come and talk to him when he wakes up," she said. "Have the nurse page me."  
  
Mark nodded, grateful for the sensitivity of the two women, he needed some time alone.  
  
He watched his son sleep and considered all that had happened in the light of what he now knew to be the truth. Convincing Steve that he was not responsible was going to be much harder than he, or anyone else, had anticipated and that was only part of the problems they faced, Jesse's condition was still critical and Mark had a feeling that their accident had something to do with the case, when Steve found out that would add another layer to the tapestry of guilt and responsibility and if that were not enough, there was the press and the DA to deal with and almost certainly more than one murderer to catch.  
  
He sighed heavily, trying to decide which of the many problems to consider first.  
  
. 


	18. Investigations

Part 18 Investigations  
  
Amanda returned to Mark and Steve's room. It was late but she had some good news for them. She didn't want to wait until morning but she wasn't going to wake them if they were sleeping.  
  
She looked in through the door, both men had their eyes closed and she almost turned to leave when a soft voice called her back. "Amanda."  
  
She walked over to the bed. "Hi, I thought you were sleeping."  
  
"No," Mark said. He adjusted his position. "To tell you the truth I'm finding it kinda hard to sleep. Too much on my mind."  
  
Amanda nodded, "I know what you mean," She looked across at the other bed. "How's Steve?"  
  
Mark looked at her and sighed. "He barely picked at his dinner," he said, knowing that describing Steve's behaviour would tell Amanda far more about his son's condition than any description of his mood. "And he asked Dr. Taylor to give him something to help him sleep." He looked across at his son's bed "I shouldn't really have been listening but he asked for something that would stop him dreaming." He looked back at her, the tears welling in his eyes now almost a permanent fixture. "He gave him a powerful sedative I don't expect him to wake up until morning."  
  
Amanda listened quietly, watched the concern cross Mark's face as he described his son's behaviour. She knew that Dr. Carter was worried that, now he knew that his father was going to be all right, he was going to withdraw into himself again and given what Mark had just told her, that didn't seem to be an impossibility. They all would have to work to prevent that happening. Then she remembered her reason for coming in. "Well, I came here because I have some good news." She said, pleased that she had something positive to tell her friend. "It's Jesse, he's off the ventilator and responding to stimuli," She smiled.  
  
Mark smiled back. "That's great news, honey," he replied, "Is he awake yet?"  
  
"No, not yet, but all the signs are really positive, Dr. Turner seems happy that he's out of danger but he's going to keep him under a little longer."  
  
Mark nodded, "Steve will be relieved, I'll tell him as soon as he wakes up." He tried hard to but was unable to stifle a yawn.  
  
"Now don't you think you should be trying to get some rest yourself?" She chided  
  
"So long as you promise to keep me up to date on the investigation," Mark replied.  
  
"First thing tomorrow I'll make sure that Nathan's here to fill us all in." Amanda stood and kissed Mark on the forehead, "Now you get some sleep."  
  
Mark nodded and she turned to leave. She was almost at the door when a sleepy voice called after her. "Thanks Amanda"  
  
She turned to reply but the old doctor's eyes were already closed, so she mouthed a silent 'your welcome,' before she closed the door quietly behind her.  
  
  
  
Steve sat quietly in the chair and stared at the floor.  
  
Dr. Carter had waited until after breakfast before asking to see Steve on his own. Dr. Taylor had been to see her the night before and, given Steve's general exhaustion, they had decided to wait until he had had a decent nights rest before attempting to get him to talk again. Even if Steve had not requested the sedative Dr. Taylor would have been inclined to give him one anyway. It was clear that his body needed some time to recuperate from the many shocks it had had over the last few days and Steve did look a little better for the enforced sleep. "Are you sure that you're comfortable?" She asked.  
  
Steve nodded distractedly. "No more or less than anywhere else," he said, still not looking up.  
  
"Do you want to tell me how you are feeling?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Steve was used to talking to Dr. Carter, was used to her style and knew that she was trying to help him. Most importantly, he desperately wanted her help. Since he had woken up he could think of nothing else, other than the danger that his father and friends had obviously placed themselves in to help him. He needed to find out how and why, and to do that he needed to establish some sort of emotional control himself.  
  
"Because I can't," he began hesitantly, "There are too many.." He paused. "Each time I think about it it's something different."  
  
"So how about we keep it simple. How do you feel right now?"  
  
Steve considered it ."Now?" He asked himself as he tried to identify what he was feeling. There was a long pause. "Angry," he finally said, pinning down the only emotion that he could truly recognise from the mess he was experiencing. The guilt and despair were there in equal measure but by their nature belied recognition. In Steve's depressed state these were non emotions, things that he deserved to feel. His normal benchmarks had been skewed by the withdrawal of the last few days, leaving only the anger to be identified  
  
"At?"  
  
Again there was a pause as Steve tried to find a focus for his anger. "I don't know," he started with the familiar, safe, response, "I guess."  
  
"Come on Steve, who or what are you angry at?" Dr. Carter prompted.  
  
" The gunmen," Steve said quietly, "My backup, they should have been there quicker," the volume of his voice was building. "The people who hurt my dad and Jesse." The ideas were building in his head.. "Society for letting this sort of thing happen." He was confused there were other answers, answers he didn't want to give. "Hell, I don't know, the whole damn world."  
  
"Who else Steve?" Dr. Carter asked in soft tones." Who else are you angry at?"  
  
Steve looked into her eyes for the first time. "Myself," he admitted, then looked down again.  
  
"Who else?" Dr. Carter's voice was even more gentle  
  
Steve thought about it, "The people who died," a part of his mind knew that this was irrational but nonetheless it was how he felt.  
  
"Why are you angry with them Steve?"  
  
"Because," he faltered, "Because they died. because I didn't, because they left me to face all this." another pause, "Because it was my fault." He was studiously playing with his fingers.  
  
Dr. Carter just watched him, waiting for him to continue. She was pleased with the progress they already seemed to be making. She knew that if they had not worked together before, if they had not developed a mutual trust, he would not be talking to her this openly. She could also see that something else was driving him.  
  
Steve looked up again, "But that's wrong isn't it." His guilt deepened. "How can I be angry with them? When they're." he was struggling to follow his own thinking. Somehow these things were so hard to put into words. "they're all victims, none of them deserved to die." He looked her in the eye once more. "How can I be angry at them?"  
  
Dr. Carter didn't answer the question directly, there was no way to, until he understood himself what was driving his feelings. There were other things to deal with, several things that he had said that they needed to explore further. She chose one of them. "Why do you think it's your fault?"  
  
The question was a mistake, Steve wasn't ready for it. Suddenly every fibre of his being screamed at him that it was his fault. That he didn't deserve to recover because he had caused so many deaths. He dipped his head and fought for emotional control. A sharp pain from his ribs allowing him to develop some semblance of focus. With effort he repressed the overwhelming feelings of guilt. He needed to be in control if he was going to help and protect those he loved.  
  
Dr. Carter recognised that it had been the wrong question. She waited to see how Steve would react.  
  
Steve cleared his mind. He wanted to recover but to do that he would have to face things that he was not yet ready to face. He took several deep breaths and made a decision, dealing with these emotions was going to have to wait. He couldn't afford to fall apart again.  
  
"Steve?" Dr. Carter eventually broke the silence.  
  
He stood up, ignoring the wheelchair he was in. "I'm sorry I can't do this right now," he said, barely remembering to take his IV stand with him.  
  
"Steve," Dr. Carter repeated, as he reached the door.  
  
He stopped and spoke without turning. "I will come back." Then he opened the door and left.  
  
Dr. Carter sighed and reproached herself for trying to move too fast, she was too experienced to make such basic mistakes. She just hoped that she hadn't done any irreparable damage.  
  
  
  
Mark put the paper down as Amanda and Nathan came into the room. Amanda glanced at Steve's bed noting that it was empty. Mark noticed the look. "He's talking to Dr. Carter" he said.  
  
Amanda nodded, "You feeling up to visitors?"  
  
"Yes, in fact I could do with knowing what's been happening." Mark looked at Nathan. "What have you found out."  
  
"Plenty," Nathan said, taking a seat and placing several files on the table that sat across the old doctor's bed. He had been using it to rest his paper on, unable to hold it properly one handed.  
  
"While Steve's not here, I think we need to tell you what Lieutenant Stiles told us." Amanda said, needing to get this done before they got involved in any other discussions. It was important that Mark knew that Ms Gray was not going to drop the case.  
  
Mark was dismayed as he listened to Amanda's account of their conversation with the lieutenant. When he had read Steve's account of the events in the clinic the one positive thought that had emerged through all of the empathic pain was that at least this cleared Steve of any accusations of negligence, but now it seemed that even that small comfort was to be taken from them. If the assistant DA was so set on pushing the case to trial, then that could only lead to more trauma. Once again the need to sort out exactly why things had happened as they had, took on a new importance.  
  
"So how much of this are we going to go through with Steve?" Nathan asked  
  
"How about all of it?" The voice came from the doorway and all eyes turned to see Steve standing there. They all wondered how long he had been there and how much he had heard.  
  
Mark risked a surreptitious glance at the clock as Steve made his way round to his bed. A relatively short time had elapsed since Steve had left for his talk with Dr. Carter, that and the fact that Steve had returned without his wheelchair, both testified to the session not going well. He studied his son's features to try to judge his mood.  
  
Amanda and Nathan exchanged glances. Now that Steve was back it would undoubtedly be harder to discuss anything directly connected to the clinic, they would all be too concerned about Steve's reactions.  
  
Steve spared them the trouble of figuring out where to start by asking the first question. "So what have you found out about the person who shot Jesse and caused the accident." He asked, no betrayal of any emotion on his face. If he had heard them discussing his arrest and possible trial, he wasn't giving away any suggestion that it had affected him.  
  
Nathan was still a little disconcerted he looked at Mark, who simply nodded confirming that he should answer. "OK, we can confirm that whoever shot Jesse used the same gun that killed two of the victims at the Hillside clinic."  
  
This was the first time Mark had heard this piece of information. "So, the accident had something to do with our investigation of the case."  
  
"Sure looks that way," Amanda replied.  
  
"So where were you headed?" Steve asked.  
  
"We were going to interview a Mrs. Edmonds. She was the receptionist at the clinic up until a few weeks ago."  
  
"And what did you hope to find out from her?" Steve asked.  
  
"Mark thinks that the clinic's owner, a Dr. Evans had something to do with what happened on Saturday," Amanda replied.  
  
"Was he," there was the slightest of hesitations, "One of those killed?" Steve asked.  
  
It was Mark who replied this time. "No, he didn't arrive until later and there is just something about what he said that doesn't add up. Seems he had a flat, that's why there were so many people waiting."  
  
"That's one of the things I have information on. I checked up on his movements and you're right there is something strange." Nathan flipped open a page in his notebook. "According to what he told us the Autoclub came out and fixed his car.."  
  
"He called the Autoclub to fix a flat?" Steve asked.  
  
"Yes, he claims one of the nuts was seized," Nathan replied before returning to his notes. "They left him at 5.48p.m., they have to log all of their jobs, so the time is accurate. The location he was in it should have taken him ten to fifteen minutes to get to the clinic."  
  
"Which would put him there at around 6 o'clock," Amanda said.  
  
Nathan looked at her. "Yes, but no one registered him at the scene until around 6.30p.m. when he spoke to Captain Newman and then he was driven directly to the hospital in a Black and White so he could avoid the reporters."  
  
"What does he say?" Steve asked  
  
"He claimed that he was there just standing watching for a while after he arrived," Mark said, remembering his conversation with Dr. Evans at the clinic, the day before.  
  
"Well no one got past the cordon after about 6.05 apart from police officers and the EMTs" Nathan added. "I checked. They don't remember letting Dr. Evans in at all."  
  
Mark pinched his nose. "So that means he was there before most of the police units arrived."  
  
"Was he the second gunman?" Amanda asked.  
  
Nathan looked at Steve. "I've got a picture," he stated, giving Steve the chance to refuse to look at it, if he didn't feel up to trying to make an identification.  
  
"Let me see?" Steve asked and braced himself to possibly see the face that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.  
  
Nathan flicked through the files until he found the relevant photograph. He passed it to Steve, noting the tension in the older man. Steve looked at it and slowly released a breath. "No, he's too old by about ten years." He said handing the photo back.  
  
Mark's mind was working rapidly. "So, assuming Dr. Evans went straight to the clinic and there's no reason to suppose he didn't. What was he really doing between 6 and when he spoke to Captain Newman at 6.30? There were too many officers about for someone not to notice him and ask him why he was there and why didn't he try to help the EMTs?"  
  
"You know," Amanda said, following Mark's original line of thinking. "He would have arrived at almost exactly the time the hostage situation was happening. Only minutes after Steve, maybe that was part of the setup."  
  
"But how would the gunmen know what time to go in at?" Nathan asked. "They wouldn't know what time the Autoclub finished up."  
  
"That's why the cell phone is such a wonderful invention," Amanda replied.  
  
"I'll see if I can get hold of his phone records." Nathan said taking out his own phone.  
  
"If this whole thing was a setup." Amanda looked at Mark. "What were they trying to do?"  
  
"Well," Mark said, "I've been thinking about that. We know that Robert Hughes was behaving as if he were crazy or high on something, right?" Both Steve and Amanda nodded. "We also know that he wasn't. So we can only assume that he was trying to kill one or both of the people he shot, but trying to make it look as though they were motiveless killings."  
  
"So that no one would bother to look into the backgrounds of the victims?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Exactly," Mark nodded.  
  
"Then that is exactly what we should do" Nathan said, he had finished his call and caught the tail end of the conversation. "We should have the good doctor's phone records in a couple of hours." He added  
  
"So you were hoping that Dr. Evans old receptionist might be able to give you some information on the good doctor and whether he had a motive to kill anyone?" Steve asked  
  
Mark nodded. "It did seem awfully convenient that his long time receptionist should take an early retirement a couple of weeks before all this happened."  
  
"Then maybe I should go out and have a talk with her?" Amanda suggested.  
  
"And I'll go with you," Steve said, bracing himself for the protests that he knew would come. Amanda and his father did not disappoint.  
  
"Steve you're in no condition.." Mark began.  
  
"You don't need." Was Amanda's opening contribution.  
  
Steve held up his hand. "Look if I lie in this bed and do nothing I'm going to go slowly crazy," he said, "I need to feel like I'm doing something." He looked at Amanda "Besides, after what happened to my dad and Jesse I'm not happy about you going out there alone." He looked at them each in turn. "Please I need to do this."  
  
Amanda and Mark exchanged looks with each other. Short of tying Steve to the bed they knew they weren't going to stop him. Mark did the only thing he could and that was to put some conditions on Steve's actions. "OK, but you need to get Dr. Turner to check you over first and only if he gives you the all clear to be up and around."  
  
"We'll go after lunch," Amanda said, doing her part to keep Steve in bed as long as possible.  
  
"In the meantime I've got some mug books for you to look through if you feel up to trying an identification?" Nathan asked.  
  
Steve faced the prospect of seeing the image of his nightmares once again and swallowed down the feelings of fear and revulsion it invoked. He nodded. "If it means helping to catch the man who tried to kill my dad and Jesse, then I'm up to it."  
  
"I'll get them from the car," Nathan said. He pointed at one of the files in front of Mark. "You have everything we've been able to dig up so far on Dr. Michael Evans. You may want to look at it, see if you can come up with anything. I've been through it and although the guy isn't going to win any prizes I couldn't see anything wrong.  
  
At that point Dr. Taylor came in, after exchanging greetings he got straight to the point. "I've got some very good news and some bad news for you." He paused and took a breath. With that opening he had everybody's attention. "The good news is that Dr. Travis is awake and talking. He can have visitors but only one at a time." That news had brought a smile to everyone's face.  
  
"I'll go," Amanda said.  
  
"Well that's where the bad news comes in. I've got another autopsy for you to do, Saul Reeve, another one of the victims from the clinic. He died about half an hour ago." He looked Amanda in the eye. "Just like Sarah Mackay, I don't understand it, he was doing well, the prognosis was good, please Amanda I need you to find out what went wrong."  
  
Mark was thinking again. "What did Sarah Mackay die of?"  
  
"Pulmonary embolism." Amanda answered  
  
"Could it have been an air embolism?"  
  
Amanda looked at him realising what her old friend was getting at. "You know that's almost impossible to spot unless you are looking for it," she stated. "Are you implying that Sarah Mackay was deliberately killed after she arrived here?"  
  
"Possibly," Mark said. "It's certainly a good way to get rid of potential witnesses. It might be worth checking in this autopsy."  
  
"Mark you know how much extra work is involved." Amanda began to protest.  
  
"But if I'm right and someone is trying to get rid of the remaining witnesses?" Mark asked.  
  
"OK. I'll check for needle marks first and if I find any I'll set up the test." She acquiesced.  
  
"It might be an idea to get a guard put on Linda Wright's door until we know for sure," Mark suggested.  
  
"OK I'll see what I can do," Nathan replied  
  
"Meanwhile I'll go down and visit Jesse," Mark said.  
  
"I'll go get the Mug books," Nathan added as he, Amanda and Dr. Taylor left the room.  
  
It didn't take long for a nurse to come and escort Mark down to see Jesse, and Steve was left alone to contemplate the fact that, despite his father's theories, there was one more dead body on his conscience.  
  
  
  
Byron climbed back into the car, he was thoughtful and Peter knew better than to interrupt his train of thought. So he sat quietly and waited.  
  
Byron finally spoke. "This is going to be a little more tricky than we thought. They've put a guard on her door."  
  
"So does that mean we can't get to her?" Peter asked hopefully. He really didn't want to be involved in murdering yet another innocent young woman. The cop and his friends were a different matter. They were out to arrest them so they were fair game, but twenty year old women? This was one step beyond where he really wanted to go. Then again most of what Byron did was.  
  
"No," Byron said, smiling. "It just means that we have to be a little more inventive about how we do it." His smile broadened and he pulled a small vial from his pocket and stared at the liquid inside. "After all our friend Lieutenant Sloan has a guard on his door." He turned to look his companion in the eye, still rolling the vial between his fingers. "And he's about to have a very unpleasant afternoon." 


	19. New Information

Part 19 New Information.  
  
Jesse's eyes were closed as Mark came into the room, so he and the nurse who was pushing him tried to be as quiet as possible, but as he drew up alongside the bed, his young friend's eyes opened and his face instantly lit up with a characteristic grin.  
  
"Hey Mark," he said his voice a little more gravelly than normal.  
  
"Hi Jess," Mark replied smiling back, but at the same time critically appraising his friend's condition. The bandage around his head was covering the worst of the damage but the black eye was a testament to the force of the impact, the bruising a bright blue and purple. "How're you feeling?" He asked the obvious first question.  
  
Jesse was doing his own appraisal, Mark had a small dressing on his forehead and his arm was in a full cast. "Looks like I should be asking you that," he replied. "Have you, been roller-skating in the halls again?" He asked only slightly irreverently.  
  
"Not quite," Mark replied, following Jesse's glance down to his own cast. " Broken ulna," he raised his arm slightly, as if there may be some doubt in what he was talking about, "it'll be fine in a few weeks." He met Jesse's gaze. "Now back to you."  
  
Jesse leant his head back "I guess not too bad for someone who's been shot and rolled his car."  
  
"You remember the accident?" Mark asked.  
  
"No, I insisted that Dr. Taylor told me how I got here and what was wrong." He smiled at his friend. "I threatened to tell the nurses that he's the one who stole the cake at Anna's Birthday party and hid it in the kitchens"  
  
Mark smiled, practical jokes amongst the staff were fairly common, part of the friendly working atmosphere at the hospital, but this particular one had gone a little awry "I remember that. It got served to the patient's as dessert and we had some pretty furious party organisers on our hands, I hate to think what they would do if they caught the person responsible."  
  
Jesse agreed, "Yeah, nothing quite like the wrath of a group of nurses."  
  
Mark looked him in the eye again. "Bill Taylor did that?" he asked slightly surprised.  
  
Jesse grinned mischievously. "No I did, but that doesn't mean that they wouldn't believe me if I told them it was him."  
  
Mark grinned at the idea, then became more serious. "So he told you what happened?" He asked.  
  
Jesse's smile also faded slightly, "Yeah," he tried to remember exactly what his colleague had said to him. His thoughts had been a little confused and he had drifted in and out of sleep all morning. He knew that he had a concussion and concentrating for more than a few minutes was difficult. "He said I'd been in an accident, well, not exactly an accident since somebody shot me whilst I was driving, so I guess that must have been deliberate, and my car rolled off the." Jesse suddenly stopped talking as his fuzzy senses put ideas together, amazed that he hadn't made the connection the second he'd seen Mark. His eyes widened, "You were in the car too?"  
  
Mark nodded.  
  
Jesse lifted his head again. "That's where you got hurt?" He asked.  
  
Mark nodded again.  
  
"Oh Mark I'm sorry. It's all my." Jesse's smile had gone now. He felt responsible for Mark's injuries, since he knew that he had been driving. His earlier argument that it wasn't an accident momentarily forgotten.  
  
"Jess," Mark interrupted. "You were shot remember, this isn't your fault." His tone was gentle to try to calm his young friend  
  
Jesse looked at him, recognising the soothing tone in his mentor's voice. He took a moment to arrange his thoughts and relaxed a little. "Sorry," he said smiling again, "I have a concussion." He said by way of an excuse for his confused behaviour.  
  
Mark smiled again putting his hand on Jesse's arm. "I know you do Jess, trust me everything is going to be all right," and for the first time in several days, he was beginning to believe it.  
  
  
  
Amanda pulled off her rubber gloves and sighed. She moved over to the phone and picked it up dialing Nathan's pager number. She did not have to wait long before he called her back.  
  
"Hi Amanda, what have you got?"  
  
She did not waste time with preamble. "Mark was right, Saul Reeve did not die of natural causes. He was injected with a quantity of air directly into a vein."  
  
"OK I'll get back up there with a Crime Scene unit and we'll start interviewing the hospital staff," Nathan said. "I'll also let the Captain know that the guard on Linda Wright's room needs to be a permanent fixture."  
  
"I'll get this report written up as soon as I can," Amanda checked her watch, she still had time before lunch. "And I'll let Mark know that once again his hunch was right. Speaking of which, you do realise this means that Sarah Mackay might have been killed here too."  
  
"I know, we're going to have to treat both deaths as suspicious." Nathan sighed. "I'm going to get some people here to carry on with those background checks. Page me when the report is ready."  
  
Amanda told him that she would and hit the disconnect on the phone before dialing another pager number. She had a colleague to reassure. She could now categorically tell Dr. Taylor that his patients had definitely not died because of anything he had done wrong.  
  
  
  
Mark spent best part of an hour with Jesse. Despite his concerns that the young doctor wasn't really up to it yet, Jesse insisted that Mark fill him in on everything that had happened and where they were up to with the case, feeling that his young friend would become more stressed by not knowing, the old doctor acceded to his demands for information. Jesse was extremely relieved that Steve was back with them both physically and, it seemed, mentally and he told Mark so.  
  
"Yes, well we're all quite relieved that you're OK too," Mark said. "You had us worried for a while you know."  
  
"Hey," Jesse had smiled at him. "You shouldn't have worried, you know what a hard head I've got"  
  
Mark had smiled back but Jesse could see the genuine concern and, once again, counted his blessings that he had people around who were so close they were more like family than friends.  
  
Towards the end of the hour it was becoming clear, however, that Jesse was finding it increasingly difficult to focus, and Mark knew that it was time to let him get some rest. He promised to come back later in the afternoon to check on him and waited until Jesse drifted back to sleep before calling a nurse to take him back to his room.  
  
When Mark came back into their room Steve was once more standing staring out of the window but now he was fully clothed, and Mark also noticed that his IV had been removed. He turned on hearing Mark's entrance. "Hi Dad," he said, smiling, but Mark could tell that it was forced. The concern in his voice as he asked the next question, however, was not. "How's Jesse doing."  
  
"Good," Mark replied as the nurse helped him back into bed. "Considering, he's going to need a lot of rest though." He waited until the nurse had finished fixing his sheets before adding pointedly. "Let's just hope he's better than some people at getting it."  
  
Steve moved back over to his bed and sat. "Now, I've done everything that I was asked. Dr. Taylor checked me over and he said as long as I was careful and didn't overdo it he'd sign the release."  
  
Mark looked critically at his son, recognising something in the expression. "You used the same blackmail technique that Jesse did didn't you- threatened to tell the nursing staff that he took Anne Peter's birthday cake."  
  
Steve smiled, he never could get anything past his father. "I tried, but he told me he was more afraid of you than he was of the nurses. He made a point of telling me that if he didn't think I was fit enough then he'd refuse to let me out."  
  
Mark sighed, he wasn't happy about his son leaving the hospital, still, at least Amanda would be with him. She'd look out for him and make sure that he took things steadily. He crinkled his nose in a way that only he could. "Isn't that my shirt?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," Steve replied, "Mine was.." he hesitated as images of bullets tearing into cloth flashed into his mind. Damn couldn't he get through one conversation without something threatening to break through his carefully maintained control. He dropped the explanation. "I asked one of the nurses to get me one of the spares you keep in your office. You don't mind do you?"  
  
"No," Mark smiled at him, keeping his tone light, despite having seen the momentary loss of control. "Of course I don't mind. It's just that all that loose material is reminding me that I really need to lose a few pounds."  
  
Keeping on safe ground Steve changed the topic of conversation. "Amanda called down whilst you were with Jess. Told me to tell you that your hunch was correct- an air embolism killed Saul Reeve. Nathan's got a team here interviewing the staff."  
  
"Interesting," Mark said, his mind working rapidly now that his hunch had been confirmed.  
  
"It gets better," Steve continued, waiting for his father to look at him before carrying on. "Guess who visited Saul shortly before his untimely demise?"  
  
Mark looked at his son. "Dr. Michael Evans?" He asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
"Got it in one," Steve replied.  
  
"Are they going to arrest him?" Mark asked.  
  
Steve shook his head. "As far as they can tell, he left half an hour before the body was discovered. The alarms on the monitoring machines had been turned off and there's no way to establish the exact time of death, forensics are checking for prints on the machines. The fact that he was there, is just circumstantial unless we can establish a motive, anyone could have entered in the half hour after he left and killed him."  
  
Mark picked up the file that Nathan had left him. "Then I guess I'd better get on with my reading," he said, looking for his glasses.  
  
  
  
Amanda arrived as they were finishing lunch. Mark had been relieved to see that Steve ate this one with at least some of his normal enthusiasm, unlike the meal the previous evening, and he had to admit that, despite his reservations, the prospect of going out and doing something was having a positive effect on his son.  
  
"You ready Steve," she said, having spent a little time checking on Mark's well being.  
  
"You bet," Steve said, pushing his tray aside, then he noticed the Jell-O that he still hadn't eaten and he picked it up and began eating it. He looked up to see that both his father and Amanda were staring at him. "What?" he asked, "Can I help it if I like Jell-O?"  
  
Amanda and Mark both laughed. It was so nice to see Steve behaving like his old self, however briefly.  
  
He became a little self conscious and put the spoon back in the bowl. He then placed it on the stand next to Mark's bed "Come on then," he said to Amanda, heading towards the door. He turned, Amanda had not moved except to turn to watch him. She and his father still had the same expressions on their faces. "I'm saving it for later," Steve said. "It's too good to waste. Now are you coming?"  
  
Amanda let out a small laugh and exchanged a knowing glance with Mark. "I'll see you later," she said following Steve from the room.  
  
Mark's voice stopped her as she reached the door. "Amanda." She turned. "Look after him."  
  
Amanda nodded and continued from the room.  
  
Steve made his way down the corridor more than a little happy with his performance. He had sought to reassure his father that he was all right and had used the meal as a tool. He had known that Mark was watching him closely the evening before and knew that his inability to eat anything had worried him. He didn't want his dad worrying about him all afternoon, so he had feigned his enjoyment of the food and it seemed to have worked, but he did wonder if the Jell-O thing was a little over the top.  
  
Amanda caught up to him and led him out through one of the back entrances to the hospital, explaining it was how she and Jesse avoided the unwanted attentions of the press.  
  
It took less than fifteen minutes to get to Mrs. Edmonds' house and Steve remarked that whoever shot Jesse must have known what they were doing or been an extreme opportunist. They only passed a couple of exits on the freeway on the way to their destination.  
  
The house was a pleasant single story property set in it's own grounds. "Nice place for a receptionist," Amanda remarked as she got out of the car.  
  
Steve was carefully exiting on his own side, he was feeling distinctly queasy but didn't want to admit that his father may have been right about him leaving the hospital too soon. He put it down to having eaten more in one meal, than he had in the last few days and took a deep breath before turning to follow Amanda. "Yeah very nice," he replied forcing a smile.  
  
They stood on the verandah but got no answer to their knocks.  
  
"Maybe we should try around back?" Amanda suggested, unwilling to give up too easily.  
  
Steve nodded and they moved off to the side of the house. As soon as they rounded the corner, they spotted Mrs. Edmonds pruning the rose bushes that ran down the side of the house. Amanda spoke as they approached. "Mrs. Edmonds.."  
  
"If you're reporters get off my property now before I call the police," she interrupted.  
  
Amanda smiled, "No we're not reporters, I'm Dr. Amanda Bentley and this is Lieutenant Sloan." She pointed at Steve. "But we are investigating what happened at the Hillside clinic Saturday and we were hoping that you could help us by answering a few questions."  
  
The older woman looked at them skeptically and appeared to think about it for a few moments. "You want to know about Dr. Evans," she stated, though there was something in her tone as she said his name that indicated a dislike.  
  
Amanda picked up on it. "You didn't like him?'  
  
"Just because I worked for the man for five years does not mean that I had to like him." She said carrying on with her pruning.  
  
"Can I ask you why not?" Steve asked.  
  
She stopped and looked at him. "Oh nothing specific, he was always very nice to me, he just always struck me as having a darker side." She was staring at him now. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"  
  
"Could we ask why you left?" Amanda asked hastily, trying to distract the woman from identifying Steve.  
  
Mrs. Edmonds turned to look at her. "Because he made me an offer I couldn't refuse." She started to take her gloves off. "I was only three months away from retirement," she explained. "He offered to let me take it early with full benefits."  
  
"Did he say why?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Oh yes, he wanted somebody young and pretty to do the job. He needed my experience when he started out but with the clinic running successfully.. Would you two care for some tea?" She asked changing tack. "Only I don't get many visitors."  
  
"That would be nice," Amanda replied for them, smiling at the old woman, who started to lead them inside.  
  
"Of course he didn't word it quite like that. He claimed that he was worried about my health, thought I was getting run down, but I knew what he meant." She stopped abruptly and looked at Steve. "I remember you're the police officer who was inside the clinic on Saturday night, aren't you?"  
  
Steve looked back at her and Amanda couldn't fail to spot the haunted look that crossed his features. "Yes that's right," he said quietly.  
  
"Oh you poor thing, must have been awful for you," the old woman said sympathetically.  
  
Amanda was relieved at the reaction, she didn't think Steve could have handled any sort of accusation.  
  
"I think it's terrible what's happened to you and as for that Sandra Gray, I never did like her." She watched Steve for a moment. "Are you all right you look very pale?"  
  
Amanda couldn't help but pick up on her tone of voice again as she'd said the name. "I'm sorry but do you know, the assistant DA?"  
  
Mrs. Edmonds turned to look at her "I'm sorry?"  
  
"The assistant DA Sandra Gray. Do you know her?" Amanda asked, intrigued.  
  
"Yes, I."  
  
At that point the first cramp hit Steve and he doubled over, groaning as he did so.  
  
"Steve," Amanda cried out in alarm, rushing to his side.  
  
"Amanda, I'm sorry I'm going to be." but he got no further as he began to be violently sick. Each spasm of the muscle shooting waves of pain through his damaged ribs as he sank to his knees.  
  
Amanda looked up. "Please call 911 now!" she pleaded. Mrs. Edmonds did not need telling twice. She rushed off towards the house.  
  
  
  
Byron lowered the binoculars that he had been using to watch Steve and Amanda. He smiled. "See, a very unpleasant afternoon," he said, turning to his companion. "Come on let's get out of here before we're seen." 


	20. Fear and Progress?

Part 20 Fear and Progress?  
  
Dr. Taylor was smiling when he came in to check on Mark. For a change he only had good news to impart. "Hi Mark, How are you feeling?" He asked cheerily.  
  
"Better," Mark said and both men knew that he didn't mean just physically.  
  
"Going to miss having Steve in the next bed?" He asked, picking up Mark's chart and checking it over.  
  
Mark thought about it, "A little," he admitted. He had liked the reassurance of being able to look over and see for himself that his son was all right. "But I'm pleased that he was well enough to get out of here." He paused and looked at his friend and colleague. "He was well enough to get out of here?"  
  
Bill Taylor looked up at him. "To be honest I would have liked to have kept him in for another day or two just to monitor his progress and check that he was resting." He sighed. "But physically there was no reason to insist on it and mentally.." he hesitated. "I talked it through with Dr. Carter and we agreed that it was better to give him some space. He's going to come back in to see her, and for physiotherapy on his arm."  
  
Mark could see the sense in this. There was a good chance that Steve would have signed himself out anyway, even if Bill had refused to do it for him and then getting him back in for appointments would have been far more difficult. Mark nodded. "Thanks for looking after him."  
  
Bill Taylor smiled back. "With you and Dr. Travis. indisposed, it was the least I could do." He moved back up the bed. "Now how does that arm of yours feel?"  
  
Dr. Taylor spent the next few minutes checking Mark's condition and adding his own notes to the chart. "Anyway I have some good news for you, you won't be alone for long."  
  
"You're moving another patient in?" Mark asked.  
  
Bill nodded, "I checked on Dr. Travis before I came down here and we're going to move him down from ICU later this afternoon." He smiled, "So I figured that we'd move him in here and save the nursing staff some work, wheeling you two around to visit each other."  
  
Mark returned his smile. "That's great."  
  
"Tell me that in two days time when he's been talking incessantly." Bill replied widening his smile. He really liked Jesse but sometimes the young man's enthusiasm could grate a little. Not when he was working, then he was the consummate professional, but if he was telling you about his latest interest or hobby.  
  
"I'll expect you to be on hand with the sedatives if it gets too much," Mark joked.  
  
"For him or for you?"  
  
Mark smiled. "Possibly both," he replied.  
  
Bill was pleased to see his colleague smiling so much, the last few days had been very hard on him. "There's more good news too," he said, remembering the other thing that he needed to tell Mark about. "Linda Wright, the young woman from the clinic, is awake and talking. She's still a little groggy but she may be up to being interviewed as early as tomorrow."  
  
"That's excellent," Mark said, finding it difficult to believe that after so many days of tragedy and bad news, things were beginning to start to go right for them all.  
  
"Dr. Taylor to the ER Stat.Dr. Taylor to the ER Stat." The voice echoed out over the hospital address system.  
  
"No rest for the wicked," Bill said standing, switching off his pager which went off at the same time. "Guess I'm really popular today. I'll stop by again later," he added and hurried from the room.  
  
Mark watched him go and relaxed back contentedly to his reading.  
  
  
  
The wait for the ambulance and the ride back to the hospital were the longest thirty minutes that Amanda could ever remember spending.  
  
With the first attack, she watched Steve writhe in agony, unable to do anything for him apart from attempt to keep him calm. After the initial bout of vomiting, he fell onto his back too weak and in too much pain to do anything else. She tried to take his pulse and realised that it was racing but before she could time it properly, he reached out and gripped her hand, turning pain filled and panicked eyes to look at her. "Amanda please." was all he had managed to get out before the second wave hit.  
  
She knew he wanted her to help him, knew that he trusted her to help, but all she could do was support him, hold him whilst his body responded to the convulsions and the pain. By the time the ambulance arrived, he had broken out in a cold sweat and was shaking. Amanda did her best to reassure him. She needed to try to get him to talk whilst he still could, she needed to find out where the pain was.  
  
"Steve can you tell me where it hurts?" She asked softly.  
  
Shakily he replied, "Hands, feet, cramps.. head.aches. and.." he didn't get to say any more. He didn't have to, from the way he clutched at his abdomen Amanda knew that the cramps were hitting there too.  
  
Having managed to keep his arm still long enough to insert an IV to replace lost fluids the EMT's loaded Steve on to a gurney and into the back of the ambulance. He refused to let go of Amanda's hand, gripping it as though it were a life line.  
  
Amanda continued to talk to him, "It's going to be all right, we're on our way to the hospital now Steve," she said soothingly, brushing the hair from his forehead.  
  
It was clear that he had been poisoned in some way, but until they knew what that poison was, they couldn't risk giving him anything else. Amanda tried to concentrate her mind, focus on what could bring about these symptoms, but she was far more used to dealing with the post-mortem signs of poisoning. She shuddered at that thought. It was not going to get that far.  
  
She felt helpless as she watched his strength ebbing away, his grip on her hand loosening, his pulse dropping from too fast to too slow, and all the time the pain was etched on his features.  
  
He looked up at her holding her gaze. "It hurts Amanda, God it hurts," he whispered, tears in his eyes, as another cramp hit.  
  
"I know it does Steve," she said, doing her best to keep the fear out of her voice. "But it's going to be all right," she continued, not knowing if she were trying to convince herself or him. "It's going to be all right," she repeated, softly stroking his hair.  
  
To Steve Amanda's presence was the only stability in a world that had once more returned to nightmares. The pain from his ribs had almost reached unbearable proportions, the muscle cramps only adding to his misery, but it was not that that drove his panic. It was fear. He did not understand what was happening to him and he was scared. Scared that he was going to die, and he realised that he did not want to die, not like this. Whatever he may have said, however guilty he felt, he did not want to die.  
  
"I need to talk to the hospital Steve," Amanda said, as an idea occurred to her. "So I'm going to let go for a minute." She moved her hand and loosened her hold on his slightly, her heart almost breaking at the look of panic that Steve returned, his own grip tightening.  
  
"Amanda, please," he said desperately, terrified that, if he let go, she would leave him and he wanted, needed her there.  
  
She returned to stroking the hair from his forehead. "Shhh I'm not going anywhere," she assured him. "I'll be right here, OK"  
  
For a moment she wasn't sure if he'd heard her or not but then he nodded slightly and she felt him let go of the grip on her hand for the first time since the symptoms had started. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed ahead to the hospital, taking his hand in hers again as soon as she could, frightened by the lack of strength that Steve returned. She impatiently waited for the ER to answer, the quicker that they got the information, the more chance they could take the correct action.  
  
  
  
It was moments after Dr. Taylor had been paged to the ER when the nurse came into Mark's room. Amanda had called ahead with what she knew and, given the time to the onset of symptoms, she had reasoned that whatever the poison was, it must have been in Steve's food. She was hoping that the tray would not yet have been cleared from the room and had asked that one of the nurses be sent to check, discretely. She wanted to go up and tell Mark herself about Steve.  
  
The young nurse moved over and picked up the tray, then she moved to the bedside cabinet to take the bowl of Jell-O that sat there.  
  
Mark looked up and couldn't help but notice the almost guilty look on the young woman's face. "It's OK you can leave that," he said nodding at the bowl. "My son's going to come back later and he said he'd finish it."  
  
The nurse looked down at it. "No. I ..er," she stammered. She looked up into Mark's eyes but that didn't help. She cursed the fact that they had sent her, she never was much good at thinking on her feet. "I'll..er.. get in trouble, lack of hygiene." She said and rushed from the room, leaving a very confused looking Mark to watch her rapid exit.  
  
He thought for a moment. Since when was a bowl of Jell-O a health hazard? Then he shook his head and returned to his reading.  
  
  
  
When Amanda appeared at the door ten minutes later Mark only had to look at her expression to know that something was badly wrong. He felt as though someone was running ice water down his face and his stomach tied it's characteristic knot of anxiety. "Oh God, Steve," he exclaimed, throwing back the sheet's on the bed and swinging his legs round "What happened? Is he all right?"  
  
Amanda was instantly at his side, stopping him from getting to his feet, she placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. She looked into his eyes, part of her had wanted to wait until they were sure of what the problem was before coming up to tell his father, but she knew that if anything happened to Steve and Mark were denied the chance of being there, she would never forgive herself. "He's down in the ER," she replied gently, "We think he's been poisoned, they're running tests now."  
  
Mark's mind was reeling. "Poisoned?" he repeated slowly. Then father gave way to doctor. "What are the symptoms?"  
  
Amanda described them, doing her best to keep the emotion out of her voice, knowing that it was Steve she was talking about.  
  
Mark recognised them instantly. "I think he's been given an overdose of potassium antimony tartrate It used to be used as an emetic, but the risk of poisoning is too high so it's seldom used nowadays. Get the lab to check."  
  
Amanda did not need to be told twice. She picked up the phone and dialed the ER first. When she had finished she turned to look at Mark. "Let me help you back into bed."  
  
Mark looked at her, he really wanted to get down to the ER to check on Steve  
  
"Look, he's stable at the moment, they'll call us the instant that there's any change," Amanda said reassuringly. "There's no sense you sitting in the ER waiting room. Stay here, I'll wait with you."  
  
Mark knew that she was right. He couldn't do anything apart from get in the way, but the desire to see his son was almost overwhelming. The fact that things had been getting so much better, only served to strengthen the fear and anxiety he now felt. "But what if." he said, staring deep into her eyes.  
  
"He's going to be all right, Mark," she replied. "Now let me help you into bed."  
  
Mark nodded reluctantly and started to sit back to wait once more.  
  
  
  
Nathan had only been back at the station about half an hour when the call about Steve came in. Captain Newman had told him to get back out to the hospital and 'find out what the Hell is going on." Nathan couldn't help but notice that his superior seemed to be as frustrated by the whole case as he was. As for the drive between the precinct and the hospital, he was sure that he could do it on autopilot, he had covered it so often in the last few days.  
  
He had been part way through reading the information that had been gathered from the background checks that he had been running and had just brought all of the files with him, figuring that it would be easier to try to read them at the hospital than to bank on making it back to his desk any time soon.  
  
There was already a uniformed officer guarding Steve by the time he made it into the ER and, having established that Steve was in no condition to talk he had made his way up to see Mark and Amanda.  
  
Amanda was on the phone when he entered so he exchanged greetings with Mark and then took a seat, waiting patiently for her to finish.  
  
"Hi Nathan," Amanda said as she hung up the phone, "That was the lab. You were right Mark," she continued, turning to look at him. " Potassium antimony tartrate also known as Tartar emetic. It was in the Jell-O but he hasn't ingested enough of it for it to be lethal, even if we hadn't got him back here quickly."  
  
Mark let out a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness he didn't eat all of it," he said  
  
"That's just it, from the concentration levels the lab measured, even if he had eaten all of it there wasn't enough in there to kill him, just make him very, very ill." Amanda stated, a hint of puzzlement in her voice.  
  
Mark considered this latest piece of information. "And there are other more lethal poisons that are easier to get hold of." He turned to look at Amanda, "but that makes no sense."  
  
Nathan was having trouble keeping up as the doctor's bounced ideas off each other. He decided to ask a question. "So are you saying somebody poisoned Steve but they weren't trying to kill him?"  
  
Mark looked at the young detective. "It's certainly an unusual choice of poison if you were. Arsenic or strychnine are much more deadly and easier to obtain."  
  
"They could just be incompetent, not know the lethal dose?" Nathan suggested.  
  
"Possibly," Mark said, not really believing it. It was just one more puzzle to add to the growing number in this case. Why would someone want to just hurt Steve? Mark could understand if they were trying to eliminate him as a witness but if that wasn't the motive for this what was?  
  
"I'll get someone onto interviewing the staff, now we know where the poison was." Nathan said. "But since two of the four remaining witnesses have already been killed I think we need to assume that Steve is still in danger. I've had a word with security already and there's a guard on him down in the ER. I think we also need to keep a closer eye on Miss Wright."  
  
"So have you found anything else out that will help Steve?" Mark asked, trying to take his mind off worrying about his son.  
  
The question was directed at Nathan but Amanda answered. "I think Steve and I were onto something just before." She paused momentarily at the memory of what had happened. Mark and Nathan looked at her, waiting patiently. She took a deep breath and continued. "Mrs. Edmonds was given early retirement with full benefits just three months before she was due to retire anyway. Which strikes me as just a little too convenient."  
  
"But that's not all?" Mark asked, he had known Amanda long enough to be able to read her expression.  
  
Amanda fixed her gaze on him, "I didn't get chance to ask her about it properly but it seems that she knew the assistant DA Sandra Gray."  
  
"Who's hell bent on laying all the blame for this at Steve's door." Nathan continued for her.  
  
"Possibly to deflect attention from her own." Amanda completed the theory.  
  
The idea sparked something in Mark's mind, putting his glasses back on. He moved to pick up the paper and somewhat awkwardly started flicking through it. "There it is," he finally said triumphantly. "Another coincidence that seems to be far too convenient. A fire in the county records office, destroying records from a number of cases going back around five or six years."  
  
"So?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Around that time Ms Gray was a state prosecutor. I know because she prosecuted a couple of the cases that Steve worked on. If she has something to do with this then maybe she's trying to cover her tracks in more ways than just eliminating witnesses." Mark suggested.  
  
Nathan blew out a breath. "If she is involved we're going to have a hard time proving it."  
  
"Well we've got two places to start. I need to go back out and find out what Mrs. Edmonds knows." Amanda said.  
  
"And I suppose I can try to find out which case files were destroyed." Nathan added.  
  
At that point Dr. Taylor knocked and entered. "Steve is stable and resting," he said, "we're just admitting him now. I thought you'd want him back up here with you." He addressed the comment at Mark. "So I've arranged for Dr. Travis to be moved to the room across the hall."  
  
"Thanks Bill," Mark said.  
  
"We'll be bringing him up in about ten minutes, I'll talk to you more then." Dr. Taylor nodded his acknowledgment to the others in the room and took his leave.  
  
Mark looked at his companions. "You two go," he said, "I'll be fine."  
  
"You're sure?" Amanda asked.  
  
Mark nodded, truth was he would be grateful for a little time alone. He did not like to let others see his emotions and at the moment he was having a difficult time keeping them in check. "Yes, you two go. The sooner we figure out exactly what is going on the sooner this nightmare will be over."  
  
  
  
Byron smiled at the question he had just been asked, he had his answer prepared. "Why did I try to kill the Lieutenant? Oh but I didn't I just made his life a little uncomfortable. Have you ever broken a rib? Trust me, very painful, and if you're vomiting too, I should imagine it's agony- poor man,"  
  
"Look you've considerably weakened our case against him. Now the police have evidence that someone is out to kill, or even hurt him, they may widen their investigation."  
  
"Don't worry, I've thought of that," Byron said.  
  
"I don't pay you to think. I pay you to follow instructions." The voice at the other end of the line snapped.  
  
"And I don't think I care about that any more," Byron replied, his voice dripping venom. "I've already lost a brother and I intend to make those responsible pay." There was a short pause. "And since he was working for you at the time I suggest that you are very nice to me before I decide that you should be on that list."  
  
There was an audible gulp a the other end of the line before the voice returned oozing charm. "OK what do you have in mind."  
  
Byron emerged from the pay phone smiling. Peter watched him with a sense of dread, that was never a good sign.  
  
Byron jumped into the passenger seat and slapped Peter on the back. "Let's get rolling," he said cheerily, "It's a beautiful day and we've got places to go and people to kill.."  
  
Reluctantly Peter put the car into drive and pulled out into traffic. 


	21. Details

Part 21 Details  
  
Mark lay back on the bed and thought about Steve. In his long career, he had seen just about every sort of injury and affliction and had learnt to maintain a professional distance from the suffering of his patients, to do otherwise could only lead to depression. It wasn't that he didn't have sympathy for his patients, that was part of what made him a good doctor, but he had to focus on the help he could give, rather than the pain they were in, to maintain any sort of perspective. When it came to his own son, however, that professional distance seemed to evaporate. He knew better than most what his son was going through and his heart ached for him.  
  
He pushed his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, trying but failing to organise his thoughts. Question after question crowded for his attention. Why this was happening to Steve? Had the poisoner intended to hurt him or kill him? And who was it? There was the frightening but very real possibility that it was a violent act triggered by all of the negative publicity surrounding the events in the clinic, after all, that had led to hate mail. Would one of those cranks take it that step further and try to hurt him? or was it someone directly connected with the case?  
  
Mark tried hard to focus but the questions kept repeating, and unfortunately there were no obvious answers. He was finally pulled from his musings at the sound of Steve being brought into the room. He watched silently whilst the nurses and orderlies made him comfortable, noticing his now deathly pale complexion and gaunt features, so different from how he had been only two short hours ago and he experienced a brief stab of despair before he managed to pull himself together. He had made a promise to himself that whatever happened he would be there for his son and he wasn't going to fail him now.  
  
Dr. Taylor made sure that Steve was resting comfortably before dismissing the nursing staff, he then sat on the bed to talk to Mark. "OK, he's going to be all right, we seem to have got most of the poison before it got into his system." He glanced across at Steve before continuing. "I've had to put him on morphine for the pain, so he's going to be out of it for a while, we'll reduce the dose over the next twelve hours and see how he does. The good news is that there shouldn't be any long term effects."  
  
"How about his X-rays?" Mark asked  
  
"Fortunately he doesn't seem to have done any more damage to his ribs, the fracture remained in place." Bill Taylor studied his friend. "He was lucky really, it could have been much worse."  
  
Mark looked over at Steve's sleeping form. Nothing that had happened to him in the last week could really be described in terms of good fortune. On the other hand, there were several occasions on which they could have lost him and, despite the pain and the trauma, he was still with them and would recover, at least physically, and for that, he knew he should be grateful.  
  
Mark realised that his colleague was watching him, waiting for some sort of response. He turned back to him. "Thanks again for everything you've done."  
  
"Well thank you for the assist with the diagnosis," Bill said, "I thought it was arsenic we were dealing with and yet you knew without even seeing him." He smiled. "It's not often that I get help from one of my patients. How did you know what it was?"  
  
Mark allowed himself a small smile in return. "When you've been around as long as I have you get to see just about everything." He paused briefly before adding, " and if you're lucky you even remember some of it."  
  
Bill let a small laugh escape. "Who are you trying to kid, you've got a memory like a steel trap and you never miss a detail."  
  
That last sentence triggered something in Mark's mind. There was a detail that he had missed, something that had been niggling at him, something connected with the case and yet he couldn't quite bring it into focus. Had Jesse, Amanda or Steve seen the change in expression they would have realised that Mark was onto something. Bill Taylor misinterpreted his sudden distraction as worry.  
  
"He really is going to be fine you know." Bill said.  
  
Mark turned to look at him but it was clear he hadn't heard.  
  
"I said he's going to be fine." Bill repeated.  
  
Mark glanced across at his son then looked back at his friend. "I know he is." He said with a conviction that betrayed his need to believe what he was saying.  
  
  
  
Amanda stepped out of the cab outside Mrs. Edmonds' house and walked past her own vehicle on the way to the door. This time when she knocked she did not have to wait long for an answer.  
  
Mrs. Edmonds opened the door cautiously until she saw who it was, recognising Amanda she pulled it open wide. "Oh my dear you've come back. Come in. Come in and I'll get you a nice cup of tea." She gestured with her hand and almost shooed Amanda past before shutting the door, and leading the way to the kitchen at the back of the house, talking as she went. "That poor Lieutenant Sloan, he was in such a state I don't think I've ever seen anyone so pale. How is he? Is he going to be all right?" They were in the kitchen now and she stopped and turned to look at Amanda with the last question.  
  
"Yes he's going to be fine," Amanda replied, taking the seat that Mrs. Edmonds gestured towards.  
  
"Do they know what was wrong with him?"  
  
Amanda hesitated before answering, deciding that the truth would only lead the conversation off in the wrong direction, she opted for a neutral statement. "They're still running tests."  
  
"I expect it was something he ate, food poisoning most probably. My poor late husband had a dreadful bout of it once when we were on holiday in New Orleans, Of course we were much younger then. Do you take milk dear?"  
  
Amanda nodded, so much for avoiding the conversation going off in the wrong direction.  
  
"I remember it was a really hot Summer.."  
  
"Mrs. Edmonds," Amanda interrupted as gently as she could, trying to decide how she could tactfully get back to her questions without offending.  
  
Mrs. Edmonds stopped speaking and paused from making the tea for a moment to look at her. "I'm sorry, you don't really want to listen to me rambling on, you want answers to the questions you came out to ask earlier." She poured two cups from the pot she was holding and set one down in front of Amanda. "So fire away."  
  
Amanda smiled, grateful for the old woman's astuteness and her courtesy. "Just before Lieutenant Sloan collapsed we were talking about Sandra Gray, the assistant DA. You said that you knew her, can I ask how?"  
  
"Yes, she used to come around a lot in the early days just after the clinic opened. She was just a state prosecutor then but you could tell she was ambitious. She had that look in her eye, almost feral."  
  
"Was she a patient?"  
  
"No, we didn't hold any medical files on her and she never had an appointment. She used to turn up late, usually after the last patient, and she'd stay after I left. Would you like a biscuit?"  
  
Amanda shook her head adding a polite, "No thank you, I'm fine," and attempting not to become frustrated by the interruptions.  
  
"At first I thought they were having an affair." She paused whilst she opened a tin and took out a cookie for herself.  
  
"What made you change your mind?"  
  
"Well there was no passion for a start, not even a spark, of course they could have been trying to hide it but they were both single so there was no reason to, and then, on the couple of occasions when she left before I did, Dr. Evans always looked unhappy."  
  
"How long did this go on for?"  
  
Mrs. Edmonds considered before she answered. "About six months, I saw her roughly once per week, and that's the other thing that made me think it wasn't an affair. After she stopped coming round, a man used to turn up to see Dr. Evans, again after hours and roughly once a week. That went on for about another six months."  
  
"And after that?"  
  
"Nothing, at least nothing like that."  
  
Amanda decided to try a new line of questioning. "Mrs. Edmonds can you think of any reason why Dr. Evans would want to hurt any of his patients?"  
  
Mrs. Edmonds eyes widened as she picked up on the implications of Amanda's question. "I.. well I. I." Clearly flustered, she took a breath to compose herself. "I told you I didn't particularly like the man and I always had the feeling that there was something not quite right, but if you're asking me do I think he had something against one of his patients that would lead him to be involved in what happened on Saturday then I'm afraid I can't help you."  
  
"You mean you don't think he could be involved?"  
  
Mrs. Edmonds considered it. "No, I'm sad to say that I think he is capable of it, I just don't know of any reason why he would do it. From what I saw, his relationship with his patients was strictly professional." She smiled forlornly. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."  
  
"No, you've been more than helpful, thank you."  
  
Mrs. Edmonds' smile brightened. "You will stay for a little more tea won't you."  
  
  
  
It was around six when Nathan finally returned to Mark's room carrying a pile of folders and some coffee for all of them. Amanda was already there talking quietly to Mark.  
  
Having established that Steve was fine but still asleep, he began to update them on his findings, placing the files on the end of Mark's bed and opening his notebook. "OK first the interviews with the staff, they revealed very little about our poisoner. About all I have established is that with just a passing knowledge of the hospital routine anyone could add or take something from a tray. When they come up from the kitchens, the trolley is left unsupervised on the corridor whilst the meals are taken into the rooms, and the trays are marked with the room number and the patients' name, so they would be easy to tamper with. From now on all food to you Dr. Travis and Miss Wright will be supervised from the kitchen to you to avoid any repeats of the incident."  
  
"So nobody saw anything?" Mark asked  
  
"One of the nurses thought she saw someone hanging round on the corridor so we've got her looking through the mug books but I don't hold out much hope. There were no fingerprints either, pretty much of a dead end I'm afraid." He turned the page in his notebook. "We also have nothing on who killed Saul Reeve and possibly Sarah Mackay. If it was Dr. Evans we have no evidence apart from the fact that he had means and opportunity. It should be enough to get a search warrant to go through his records at the clinic though. They might have something significant about his relationship with the first two patients who died, because there's nothing that I can see in the backgrounds we've dug up." He pointed at the folders on the bed. "I brought the files with me in case you two wanted to have a look."  
  
"I've been thinking about that," Mark interjected. In fact, once he had satisfied himself that Steve was going to be OK he had thought about little else all afternoon. Dr. Taylor's comment about him not missing a detail had made him reconsider everything he knew and he had picked out several more anomalies that bore investigation, although there was still something nagging at him. Something that he knew was significant but he was still missing. "If Dr. Evans was in the clinic between the shooting and when he reported to Captain Newman, it could have been because he was trying to get rid of evidence once he realised that everything had gone badly wrong and that there may be a bigger investigation."  
  
"That would make sense," Nathan replied, "But I don't see how he could have been there without being seen by someone. You were there you know how many officers were around."  
  
"Yes but it was fairly chaotic," Amanda joined the conversation. "If he kept his head down and looked like he knew what he was doing then it's possible no one would challenge him."  
  
Nathan nodded. "Possibly."  
  
"If he did destroy records," Mark said, "then it may be a good idea to take Mrs. Edmonds with you. She worked there for five years and would know better than most what was missing. Don't forget we also saw him there a couple of days later removing some more files." Mark looked at Amanda. "Do you think she would be willing to help?"  
  
Amanda nodded. "Yes, in fact I rather think she'd enjoy it. I think she's already missing working."  
  
"OK, I'll sort that out in the morning and I'll make sure that the search warrant also covers his house." Nathan said, closing his notebook. "I've also arranged to pick up a list of the case files destroyed by the fire at county records, although I still don't see what that will tell us."  
  
"Maybe some connection between Dr. Evans and Sandra Gray," Mark said, thoughtfully. "After what Amanda found out this afternoon I'm even more sure that she's somehow involved in all of this."  
  
  
  
Mark closed the file and sighed, Nathan was right, there was nothing about either of the men shot first at the clinic that connected them to Dr. Evans in anything but a professional capacity. One of them had only moved to LA from Chicago a couple of months ago and had visited the clinic a couple of times. The other had been a patient since it opened but again had only visited infrequently. There was no indication that they had any other contact than a handful of doctor- patient consultations and both were respectable and hard working men. As Nathan had said a dead end, and yet Mark had been so sure that there was a reason for the shootings. It wasn't just a random act of violence, it had a motive, they just had to find it.  
  
He placed the files on his bed. He had taken to sitting in the chair next to Steve so that he could be there for him when he woke. He had come round partially a couple of times in the last couple of hours, not really regaining consciousness, just drifting close to the surface before the drugs pulled him under again, and Mark had been there to talk to him and reassure him that everything was all right before he drifted back to sleep.  
  
Mark watched his son sleep, grateful for the medication that smoothed the lines of pain and worry from his face and allowed him to rest peacefully.  
  
"How's he doing?"  
  
The familiar voice from next to Mark startled him, he hadn't heard anyone enter the room. He turned to see Jesse sitting on the hospital bed beside him. He looked round and could see no wheelchair and no nurse and he was positive he would have heard that. "Jess, What are you doing here? You should be in bed," he admonished gently.  
  
Jesse looked pointedly at the chair Mark was sitting in. "I could say the same to you."  
  
"You could, but I only have a broken arm and a few scratches, I'm not recovering from a gunshot wound and a severe head trauma," Mark returned "and I am only two feet from my bed whereas you on the other hand.."  
  
"Had to sneak clean across the corridor when the nurses weren't looking." Jesse grinned. "And it wasn't easy you know. I had to bribe two police officers, one to let me out of my room and the other to let me in here."  
  
Mark gave Jesse the look that annoyed parents give to their offspring, or irritated doctors give to aberrant patients. "Jess you really shouldn't be walking around yet."  
  
"I know, Dr. Taylor, nine years experience and a very interesting dizzy spell in the doorway already told me that. Why do you think I had to sneak over here? Dr. Taylor said I wasn't up to coming to visit yet."  
  
Mark's expression changed to one of exacerbation. "So why are you here?"  
  
Jesse looked across at Steve and then back at Mark. "Amanda came to see me and filled me in on what happened to Steve. She said that he was going to be all right and that you were OK but." he hesitated before continuing. "I just had to see for myself." Suddenly uncomfortable by the strength and sincerity of the emotions that he had allowed to the surface, he forced the grin back on to his face, "Besides I was getting bored in that hospital bed. You know us doctors were never cut out to be patients."  
  
Mark had caught the strength of feeling in that short utterance, 'I had to see for myself,' and knew that it reflected Jesse's closeness to both him and Steve. He felt guilty that he had not gone over to reassure Jesse himself, he should have known how the young man would react when he heard that Steve had been hurt again. He regarded him critically, he was still very pale and the vivid colours of the bruising seemed to make even more of a contrast with his skin.  
  
"I'm sorry I should have come over to see you.."  
  
Jesse held up his hand. "Hey, it's all right," he nodded across at Steve. "He needs you more than I do."  
  
"All the same, if you're going to stay here then get into bed and we can talk."  
  
"But." Jesse began to protest.  
  
"Get into bed or I'll call the nurses to take you back right now."  
  
Jesse acquiesced and climbed into Mark's bed resting his head back "So, how's he doing?" he asked again once he was comfortable.  
  
Mark hesitated before answering. "He'll recover," was the best he could manage when he did. Any reference to the pain Steve had been or would be in, or the toxic side effects of the drug he had been given, would have broken the delicate control Mark had on his emotions. So he avoided references to it. "At least from this," he added, "But Jess we've got to figure out who did this and why all this is happening before someone makes another attempt. He may not be so lucky next time." He lifted his cast and gestured at Jesse's bandaged arm. "None of us might be." . "Hey," Jesse looked him directly in the eye. "You know I'll do anything I can to help."  
  
Mark smiled with genuine affection. "I know Jess." He handed him one of the files. "So, do you feel up to a little light reading?"  
  
Jesse looked at the plain folder and groaned. "Well when I said anything." he began in mock protest, but opened up the file and began to read.  
  
It was an hour before the nurses discovered that Jesse was missing and forced the errant patient back into his own bed, and he had gone with reasonably good grace, this time in the compulsory wheelchair. Mark had also been forced back into his own bed and he had lay back to continue to think about the case.  
  
  
  
Peter parked the car and rubbed his eyes, glad that he was finally being allowed to get some rest. It was almost midnight and he had been driving Byron around and running errands all day. Sometimes he wondered how his companion kept up the pace. It was an amazing yet frightening sight to watch him when he was working through a plan. He became driven, seeming to have no need to rest. Even when he had been seated beside him in the car, the energy emanating from the man was almost palpable. Peter frequently found it difficult to keep up, but was too afraid not to.  
  
He took a deep breath and headed into the rented apartment. Byron had told him to park up and then come inside and it would not be wise to keep him waiting. Not when he was in this sort of mood. He opened the door nervously and went inside.  
  
Byron was standing by an open refrigerator just inside the room. He smiled and tossed him a beer. "Here, you've earned it," he said opening his own and taking a deep gulp before dropping onto the couch.  
  
"Thanks," Peter said, still wary. He was not used to praise.  
  
"When you've finished that." Byron gestured with his own bottle across at Peter's. "Get yourself some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow and lots of traveling to do."  
  
Peter swallowed, he had been wanting to say something earlier but hadn't had the courage. "About that I."  
  
"Yes," Byron answered amused by his friend's nervousness.  
  
"Do we have to .." he stumbled over the words but forced himself on. "Do we have to leave the country."  
  
Byron smiled, "Of course we do. They've got a sample of my blood and they've matched it against Robert's. It's only a matter of time before they trace the fact that I'm his half brother and tie me to the shootings at the clinic. They don't even need witnesses, they've got enough physical evidence to make a case." He took another swig of his beer, "besides I intend to leave a confession." His amusement grew as he watched his companion's surprised expression. "So once I've done what I have to do tomorrow and had my fun, we'll need to leave."  
  
"But," Peter hesitated again, but he had started this so he had no choice but to see it through. He took a quick swig of his beer. "They don't have any evidence against me, c. couldn't I stay."  
  
In contrast, Byron took a long unhurried draw from his beer and lowered it slowly to his lap before gazing across at Peter. "Well I could leave you here I suppose." He paused for effect, noting that Peter's face relaxed slightly. "But then that would make you a loose end," another pause, "and you know what I do with loose ends."  
  
Peter gulped at the implied threat. "Then I guess I'd better pack," he said, getting to his feet.  
  
"Yes," Byron said, still smiling. "Why don't you do that."  
  
  
  
Steve saw the face of the killer as he turned. He heard the cruel taunts, "The shooting would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. Now you'll all die." And then the bullets slammed into his chest, blinding him momentarily to everything but the pain, as the words repeated in his head selectively enforcing his own guilt "Would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. you'll all die. Would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. if it hadn't been for you."  
  
Then the screams started, only this time Steve sat up and watched as each and every one of the people in the clinic fell to the floor, he watched the bullets tear into flesh, he watched the blood run from the wounds, he saw and heard their terror and he tried to scream at the killer to stop, but no sounds came from his mouth. His limbs felt like lead. He couldn't move. He couldn't help. All he could do was watch.  
  
Then he was running. He turned to look at the killer who was chasing him only it wasn't him. It was the victims from the clinic still soaked in blood and they were coming after him. They wanted him. He ran as fast as he could barely keeping in front of them, and then the first cramp hit, excruciating, debilitating pain that made him drop to his knees. Every muscle in his body screaming in agony  
  
He heard his name being called and fought to look up to see his father standing watching. He tried to reach out to him but another cramp hit and he fell onto his back exhausted.  
  
He opened his eyes to see a dozen bloodied faces above him.  
  
"You should have died." from one.  
  
"We wouldn't if it hadn't been for you," from another  
  
"No, please I tried to help" Steve replied desperate to make them understand.  
  
"But you didn't we all died," from a third  
  
"Now you'll join us." This came from the youngest face as another violent cramp hit  
  
"I told you, you would die." The killer's face grinned down at him.  
  
"No," Steve yelled out in terror. "No, I don't want... Please no!"  
  
Then there was a familiar voice amongst the taunts calling his name and with a sharp intake of breath and a violent shudder he opened his eyes.  
  
Mark hadn't intended to fall asleep but was woken by movement in the bed next to him. He threw the covers back and switched on the light. Steve was bathed in sweat and thrashing about, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. He tried calling his name but it seemed to have no effect as Steve drew up his knees clutching his abdomen in real or imagined pain.  
  
Mark paused to find the call button and summon a nurse. Steve was crying out now, the anguish in his voice enough to make Mark weep. Instead, he redoubled his efforts to wake his son, gripping his shoulder and calling his name until Steve finally opened terror stricken eyes and looked up at him.  
  
Every fibre in Mark's being wanted to draw his son into a tight hug and hold him as he had done when he was a child waking from a nightmare, telling him that everything was all right, that it was only a dream, allowing the words to soothe away the terror, but the cast on his arm presented a physical barrier to him providing the comfort of a hug, and the knowledge that it probably wasn't just a dream, but based in an all too terrifying reality, presented a mental barrier to the reassurance his words could give. Mark once again fought down the despair.  
  
"Steve, it's all right." he said, squeezing his son's shoulder, "It was a nightmare, you're safe in the hospital."  
  
Steve's eyes slowly focused on his father, his fuzzy senses tried to process the words that he could barely hear past the thundering of blood in his ears. "Dad," he said hesitantly, as he fought to quash the panic and fear, as a part of him remained trapped within his nightmare. "Dad, please," he whispered, "don't let them..I don't want to die," and Mark's carefully maintained emotional control dissolved. 


	22. Dramatic Turnaround

Part 22 Dramatic Turnaround  
  
Mark tried hard to focus through the tears that he could no longer hold back. He had come close to crying and shed more tears in the past week than he could ever remember. Normally he managed to maintain a tight control on his emotions and he knew that Steve took that trait from both himself and his mother, making it even stronger in him, which was why it was all the more difficult for him to deal with seeing his son expressing so much emotional pain.  
  
"It's all right," he said, his voice almost cracking. "You're in the hospital, Steve," he continued, forcing his voice to gain in strength and clarity. "You're going to be fine."  
  
"Dr. Sloan?" Mark turned at the nurse's questioning tone.  
  
"Nightmare," Mark said unable to take his attention away from his son for a longer explanation, besides he knew it would be enough.  
  
Knowing that some sedation may be necessary under the circumstances the nurse did not waste time. "I'll get the doctor," she said and hurried from the room.  
  
Mark did not even acknowledge the comment, he was concentrating on Steve. "Everything's all right," he said soothingly.  
  
Steve swallowed and took a deep breath as the almost overwhelming feelings of fear and guilt that clung from his nightmare, continued to pervade his senses. Slowly the familiar tones of his father's voice, the reassuring words and the recognition of his surroundings began to penetrate through the emotional cloud.  
  
His thoughts were short and simple. He was awake and safe. It was only a nightmare. He was still alive. He wasn't going to die. Incapable of analysing anything more complex in the wake of the release of stress chemicals into his brain, each realisation was accompanied by an attempt at calming his breathing and himself. He was alive. He wasn't going to die. That thought repeated as he attempted to convince himself that what he now experienced was real.  
  
He looked up at his father, any recollection of already speaking to him buried in an emotional maelstrom. "Dad?" He asked hesitantly, suddenly needing reassurance that this wasn't just a new and bizarre twist in his nightmare.  
  
"It's all right, Steve," Mark repeated. "You're safe."  
  
Steve took another deep breath, trying hard to believe his father's words, his thoughts clearing as the adrenaline dissipated and he tried to sort confused images. "How?.. Why?" He asked, looking round at the hospital room, he shouldn't be here, surely he'd left. Dr. Taylor had signed the release papers and he had headed out with Amanda. So why was he back here? Had he managed to leave the hospital or had that been another part of his dream. He tried hard to remember. There were images of being at a house talking to someone and then the agonising pain, the weakness, the images from his nightmare. How much of it was real? His breathing quickened again as he realised that he didn't know.  
  
Mark watched the fear and confusion continue on his son's face and realised that he was having difficulty grounding himself in reality. After everything he had been through it was hardly surprising that this latest brush with death had affected him so deeply. Mark did his best to reestablish his own tenuous emotional control. "You're back at the hospital," he said, keeping his voice as even as he could. "You're going to be fine."  
  
Steve looked up into his father's eyes, the words were reassuring, the tone confident but Mark's own normally stoic features betrayed him. In his father's expression he saw a reflection of his own fear, his father was scared. He noticed the tears that had fallen unchecked down his cheeks, leaving streaks on the weathered skin. How could everything be all right if his father was so afraid for him? "Dad.. I.." he began to speak again but was unsure of what to say.  
  
When Steve once again faltered as he spoke, Mark jumped in. He had watched as Steve had searched his expression, knew that what he saw would not give him the reassurance he needed. "Steve," he said, locking his gaze. "Do you know where you are?"  
  
There was an authoritative tone in his father's voice now that cut through the emotional turmoil. Steve considered the question, focused on it instead of the swirling images and emotions. He gave a slight nod, "Yes, I'm in the hospital," he replied with only a slight hesitation. His brow creased with confusion as he once again remembered leaving, "But I left, didn't I? With Amanda?"  
  
Mark was gratified at Steve's coherent response, he had been so afraid that he would take another backwards step, that he would withdraw again. "Yes, you went to visit Dr. Evans' receptionist," he replied  
  
"Then how did I get back here?" Steve asked. As his thoughts continued to clear, he became painfully aware of one possible truth. He knew that he had been suppressing his emotions, forcing them down instead of dealing with them, maybe he had had some sort of breakdown, an emotional collapse. It would certainly explain why he was back here, why his father was so afraid for him, and why he felt that he was walking along an emotional tightrope, panic waiting to engulf him. Suddenly afraid of the answer, he nonetheless knew that he had to ask, "what happened?"  
  
"You were poisoned," Mark answered,  
  
The answer was so unexpected that Steve repeated it. "Poisoned?"  
  
"Yes," Mark confirmed, "It was in your food, the lunch you ate before you left with Amanda."  
  
Steve tried to process this new piece of information. "The pain.." he began, "I thought I imagined.but it was." His thoughts were disjointed as he pieced the reality together  
  
"Was caused by the poison." Mark completed for him.  
  
Steve stared at the bed in front of him as the memories slotted into place like part of a giant jigsaw puzzle, finally the last piece fitted in, losing consciousness in the ambulance, afraid that he would never wake up again.  
  
He looked up into his father's eyes, there were so many things that he wanted to say to him, so many emotions that he wanted to express. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him and respected him, how grateful he was for his friendship, the relationship that they shared, but somehow words seemed inadequate. He had been afraid that he would die without getting another chance to express these feelings and yet, now he was faced with the opportunity, he was somehow incapable of doing so, there were too many emotions too close to the surface and he did not want to relinquish control again.  
  
He looked back down at the bed, "Do we know who?" he asked  
  
Mark shook his head, "No, they're still investigating, but it's a fair bet that it's connected to the case."  
  
Steve was thoughtful. "Then we're all still in danger," he stated quietly, trying not to acknowledge the fear that accompanied this simple statement.  
  
"Until we solve this," Mark admitted reluctantly.  
  
It was only at this point that the two men became aware that there was someone else in the room as Dr. Taylor coughed. By the time he had answered his page, he had arrived to see Steve calm and talking to his father and he had not wanted to intrude, so he had waited for a convenient point to make himself known. He moved over to the bed as both his patients acknowledged his presence.  
  
He checked Steve over, concerned initially at his quickened pulse and uneven breathing, he was relieved that it settled as he asked him some routine questions. He then gave him a sedative to help him get back to sleep, he wanted to reduce the risk of another nightmare further disrupting Steve's rest, the last thing his body needed was being subjected to more stress. Both men waited until Steve drifted back to sleep and then Bill Taylor turned his attention to Mark.  
  
"I could get a nurse in here to watch him," he suggested, nodding towards Steve's sleeping form. He knew that Mark would not, under the circumstances, agree to him being left alone "and move you to another room so you can get some rest."  
  
Mark was grateful for the concern and the reasoning behind it but there was no way that he was going to leave Steve at the moment. "Thanks Bill," he said, "but I'll be fine here."  
  
"Then at least let me give you something to help you get back to sleep too," he suggested.  
  
Mark shook his head, "I'll be fine," he said, settling himself into bed to try to prove a point.  
  
Bill gave him an exacerbated look. "Dr. Travis was right earlier," he said shaking his head, "There should be some rule against doctors being patients." With a last check on Steve he left the room.  
  
Mark lay staring at the ceiling for a while before exhaustion finally took over and he fell asleep.  
  
  
  
Nathan picked Mrs. Edmonds up at eight. She had suggested the early start, keen to be doing something, and it suited his plans because he had arranged to be at the hospital to interview Linda Wright at ten.  
  
By the time they arrived at the clinic he had decided that he liked her a lot, she had a relaxed sense of humour and was obviously intelligent. She explained clearly and succinctly her role in helping set up and run the clinic for the five years that she was there. She had been responsible for most of the day to day running of things, from keeping the files to acting as receptionist for the patients, and Nathan got the impression that she was very good at her job. To the best of her knowledge Dr. Evans had been a good practitioner for all that time and, although his patients didn't rave about him, she knew that he was more than competent, so she had ignored her reservations about his character, since it did not seem to affect his work, and they had maintained a good professional relationship.  
  
Before they entered the building, Nathan did his best to warn her what she was likely to encounter inside but she brushed off his concerns, pointing out that she had worked as a nurse in a field hospital during the Korean war and there was very little left that could shock her. "Besides," she said tellingly, "I did my grieving for those young people last Saturday," and then she followed the uniformed officers inside.  
  
Once in the office she set to work straight away and it was about twenty minutes before she returned to Nathan. "Well detective, the good news is that the file record cards are intact and as far as I can tell so is the computer indexing."  
  
"Which means?" Nathan asked.  
  
"That I should be able to tell you what, if anything, is missing from the filing system," she sighed. "The bad news is that it will take me all day, possibly longer, to cross reference everything."  
  
Nathan smiled, grateful that she was even prepared to start. "OK, well you can begin with these," he indicated a box that one of the uniformed officers had brought in. "They're the medical files on the victims that were removed during the course of the investigation. What I need to know is are they complete."  
  
Mrs. Edmonds nodded and moved over to the box, picking up the first file, she read the name. "You know some of these people have been coming here since we opened," she said a hint of regret in her voice.  
  
"You don't have to do this, you know," Nathan said, concerned that despite her bluster, this might be too emotional for her, after all she must have known all of the victims in some capacity.  
  
She looked up from the file at him, "I told you young man, that I've already done my grieving but thank you for your concern." She picked up the box and moved towards the desk. "Now kindly get out of my hair so that I can get on with my work."  
  
Nathan smiled. "Yes ma'am," he said and, leaving her in the capable hands of the two uniformed officers, he headed for the hospital.  
  
  
  
Mark was sitting in Jesse's room talking quietly when Nathan came in, he clearly had some news for them, it was written all over his face and the energy was emanating from him like a glow. They both turned to look at him expectantly.  
  
Even if they had wanted to ask questions, Nathan did not give them a chance. "I've just come from interviewing Linda Wright with Lt. Stiles," he said without preamble. "Not only does she remember everything that happened but she corroborates Steve's story one hundred per cent."  
  
Both Mark and Jesse broke into grins of their own, as a wave of relief swept over them. The assistant DA would have no choice now but to reconsider her intention to prosecute Steve. With someone to corroborate his version of events, not to mention the attempt on his life and the murder of the other potential witnesses, any case against him could quickly be destroyed by even the most inexperienced of defense attorneys.  
  
"That's wonderful," Mark said, as he tried to fully process the implications of the news.  
  
"There's more," Nathan said, perching on the edge of Jesse's bed so that he could face both doctors. "According to Linda, earlier that afternoon, Sarah Mackay had discovered that the silent alarm had been disconnected and between them, with the help of the boyfriend, James Reed, they had reconnected it. She was going to ask Dr. Evans about it when he got back but, as it turned out, she never got the chance."  
  
Jesse blew out a breath. "So it's fairly certain that he was involved then."  
  
Nathan nodded.  
  
"The police were supposed to arrive too late to do anything," Mark surmised, "If those young people hadn't fixed the alarm, the whole incident would probably have been over before the police even knew that there were shots fired."  
  
Nathan nodded again. "It certainly looks like that was the way it was meant to go down and, I think it's a safe bet that Dr. Evans would have arrived on the scene just in time to see the killers disappearing, probably telling the police the opposite direction to the way they actually went."  
  
"The perfect crime," Jesse added, "no one looking for a motive because it would appear motiveless."  
  
There was a brief silence as all three men considered how different things may have been if the crime had gone to plan.  
  
"One of the many tragedies of this," Nathan said, "Is that Linda and James weren't even supposed to be there, they had called in on the way past and were going to meet Sarah at a restaurant up the coast after her shift, then, when Dr. Evans called that he was going to be late, they decided to wait with her."  
  
Mark shook his head, "Such a waste, Evans must have realised that Sarah had fixed the alarm and got rid of her so that she wouldn't tell anyone." He looked at the others. "The question is - do we have enough evidence to prove that he was involved."  
  
"Well we've certainly got enough to pick him up for questioning," Nathan said. "The Captain's arranging a warrant as we speak and then I'm going to pick him up, I just couldn't leave without filling you in."  
  
"Thank you," Mark said.  
  
"How's Steve? Is he up to hearing the good news?" Nathan asked, suddenly slightly embarrassed by how long it had taken for him to inquire about his friend's health.  
  
"Dr. Carter is talking to him at the moment," Mark replied, "He asked to see her," he explained. He had taken this as a good sign, especially since Steve had seemed much more positive when he had woken, not that that was difficult in comparison to the state he had been in the night before. Still, Mark was prepared to take any small improvement as an indication of progress. "I'm afraid I don't know how long they'll be."  
  
"OK, I'd better get going," Nathan said, disappointed that he couldn't talk to Steve directly, "I'll keep you posted and I'll call in later."  
  
  
  
"Don't look so nervous," Byron cajoled in a friendly voice that nonetheless seemed to convey an icy menace. "You're beginning to sweat all over the nice leather furniture."  
  
"How can you be so calm?" Peter asked, looking around. His legs were continuously moving as the nervous energy was channeled first through one then the other in a relentless tapping, far too fast to fit any music. "I mean they could be looking for us now."  
  
Byron looked at his watch. "We board the plane in less than twenty minutes and we'll be out of American air space in less than an hour." He stretched. "We'll be long gone before they even think of looking for us."  
  
"But."  
  
"Relax, we've got a lot of traveling ahead of us," Byron said resting back on the chair.  
  
Peter looked at him with a mixture of fear and hatred. Part of him wanted to get up and run from the airport, do anything he could to get as far away as possible from the man who controlled and tormented him, but his dependence on him was too great. Somehow the mistreatment had gone on for so long that he couldn't imagine being without it. Even without the threat of what Byron would do to him if he left, he probably would have stayed.  
  
"I'm going to freshen up," he said.  
  
Byron nodded giving his tacit permission. "We board in eighteen minutes," he said, leaning his head back lazily and closing his eyes.  
  
  
  
"You asked to see me," Dr. Carter said once she was sitting comfortably opposite Steve.  
  
He didn't look up at her. "Yes," he paused before adding "I think I need to talk."  
  
Dr. Carter was pleased, after their last conversation that admission was a big step forward "Where would you like to start?" She asked, allowing him to set the pace. She did not want to repeat the mistakes of last time.  
  
Steve took a deep breath, "Yesterday," he said.  
  
"OK, do you want to tell me what happened?"  
  
Steve began hesitantly, "I. I was poisoned, of course I didn't know it at the time, all I knew was the pain and the nausea," his hands clenched involuntarily at the memory, ghosts of pain gripped his muscles as he moved slightly. He drew in a sharp breath. "I thought I was.." he let the sentence hang as he controlled his emotional response.  
  
"You thought..?" Dr. Carter prompted, when the silence continued.  
  
In the grip of pain and fear the day before and in the emotional aftermath of his nightmare, Steve had been able to voice his fears. He wanted, needed to talk about them now, but in the cold light of day it was so much harder. For a man used to introspection, used to dealing with his feelings alone, verbalising fears that cut to the very core of his being, thoughts and feelings that showed his vulnerability, was incredibly difficult.  
  
Two factors allowed him to continue. The first was the trust and respect he had for Dr. Carter. He felt that he could safely tell her anything about himself and she would not judge him. The second was his own need to deal with these emotions before they destroyed him and with him his father. When he had woken and had time to consider the events of the day before, there was one image that stuck with him through the clouds of the nightmare and the blurred memories, he could clearly see his father's anguished, tear stained face looking down at him and he knew that that was a real memory.  
  
He swallowed and forced himself to continue. "I thought I was going to die," he said quietly, turning to look Dr. Carter in the eye for the first time. "And I realised that I didn't want to." he turned his gaze back to the covers on the bed. "Up to that point," he paused, considering before going on. "Up to that point I wasn't sure. I thought maybe. Maybe it would have been better if I'd gone in to the clinic without my vest on." He looked up, suddenly needing to judge the Doctor's reaction to what he was saying. "If the others in the clinic didn't survive then I shouldn't have either, but yesterday." Again he tailed off, controlling his own reaction to what he was saying as fear and guilt fought their way to the surface once more.  
  
"Yesterday?" Again the gentle prompting.  
  
"I wanted to survive," he admitted.  
  
Dr. Carter wanted to jump up and punch the air, she wanted to tell Steve what fantastic progress he was making, to tell him how important the phrase he had just uttered was in his recovery, but she did none of these things. Instead only a slight trace of a smile betrayed her pleasure. She had thought that it would take him weeks maybe months in therapy to get to this point, a point where he was willing to fight to get his life back, and the irony that it was two further near tragedies, his father's accident and now his own near brush with death that had kickstarted his mental recovery, was not lost on her. She was now sure that his strength of character and his strong bond with his father were going to pull him through. He still had a long road back to full mental health but she was no longer concerned that he would break down completely. Even if the court case went ahead, he would survive it.  
  
"Is that wrong?" He asked, seeking reassurance.  
  
"No it's not wrong," Dr. Carter replied, confidently, "survival is our strongest instinct, so it's definitely not wrong. Not wrong at all."  
  
  
  
Byron undid his seatbelt as the indicator blinked off, and clicked the button on the arm of his seat to slide it gently back into a reclined position. He didn't give his traveling companion a second glance but he could still feel the nervous energy emanating from him, one day that nervousness would become a liability but fortunately that was not today. He stretched out and closed his eyes, satisfied that everything had so far gone smoothly, he concentrated on the details of what would come next.  
  
  
  
Nathan had called in at the station to collect the warrant and had then headed out to Dr. Evans house accompanied by two patrol cars. They knocked on the door but received no answer. Nathan also had a search warrant for the property and although he was disappointed that the doctor was not there, he had wanted to see the look on his face when he made the arrest, at least he knew that his journey would not be wasted. He instructed two of the officers with him to break the door down whilst the other two covered the back of the property, they were taking no chances since the doctor was wanted in connection with so many deaths.  
  
Nathan entered the house first, cautiously with his gun drawn. One of the officers with him covered the stairs whilst he and the second patrolman headed for the only door off the hallway. He moved through into the dining room beyond, keeping his back to the wall and scanning the area, but as he looked through the double doors to the adjoining room he allowed his gun to drop to his side and his shoulders relaxed.  
  
There would be no danger from the limp figure lying half off the couch in the next room. Nathan holstered his weapon and turned to stare into the sightless eyes of Dr. Michael Evans. 


	23. False Resolutions

Part 23 False Resolutions.  
  
When Mark returned to their room he found Steve standing staring out of the window, as though he could find some mental solace in the trees or the clouds. He turned on hearing his father and made his way, Mark couldn't help but notice, slightly shakily, back to his bed, without waiting to be asked. That in itself, Mark knew, was a testament to the lingering weakness from the drugs and the many ravages his system had had to endure over the last few days.  
  
"I have some good news," Mark said once Steve had settled himself. "Linda Wright made her statement, it seems she remembers everything about what happened, her story corroborates yours completely." He looked across at his son watching his expression closely. He wasn't sure how he'd expected him to react, perhaps with some of the relief that he and Jesse had felt. Instead he got no reaction at all, not that that was in itself unusual, Steve often did not show his emotions. He pressed on, "Lieutenant Stiles thinks that it will be enough to get the charges against you dropped." Still no reaction. "Steve?"  
  
Steve listened silently, staring at the bed. He knew that he should be relieved but somehow he wasn't. Part of him knew that his actions had been justified but even so he realised that he had still wanted the justice system to punish him. Whatever he or the last remaining witness said, nothing could take away the fact that his being there had resulted in more people dying, and didn't he deserve some sort of punishment for that?  
  
Mark was becoming increasingly worried by Steve's lack of response. "Steve?" he repeated with the same questioning and now slightly anxious tone.  
  
Steve heard the tone and turned to look at his father, at least this was better for him, however much he felt he deserved to be punished, for his father to have had to sit through the court case against him would have been a harrowing experience that at least now he would be spared and, if not grateful for himself, at least he could be grateful for that. He forced a half smile, "Is the girl going to be all right?" He asked, needing to demonstrate to his father that he was responsive without forcing any of his too raw emotions to the surface. He would have to deal with the guilt, exorcise his demons, but not here and not now, that was going to take time.  
  
"Yes, she's going to be fine," Mark replied, relieved "She'll have to spend a few more weeks in the hospital to allow the injuries to heal properly but the prognosis is good." He watched his son critically, trying to gauge his mental state from his reactions.  
  
"I'm glad," Steve said, his smile gaining a little warmth.  
  
"How about you?" Mark couldn't help but ask. Steve was managing, as usual, to mask his feelings. "Are you all right?"  
  
Steve looked up at him, he knew that the question was about more than his physical condition. As he looked into his father's eyes he was reminded once more of what he was fighting for, of why he had been so desperate to survive. He also knew that his father expected honesty, not some blithe reassurance that all was well, when patently it wasn't "No," he admitted, looking down at the bed, "But I'll get there."  
  
--  
  
By the time Amanda arrived at Dr. Evans' house it was the usual hive of activity that always surrounded a suspicious death. The officer at the entrance recognised her and nodded her through in to the house.  
  
Nathan spotted her as she came through the door and joined her. "Looks like a suicide," he said filling her in as he led her through to the body. "He has a needle still hanging out of his arm so it could be an OD except that he left us a note."  
  
The crime scene photographer was just finishing up and moved to allow Amanda access as she knelt down and started her checks. It was only a couple of minutes before she stood. "I won't be able to give you a cause of death until I've had the contents of this analysed," she said holding up the hypodermic that she had removed. Nathan opened out an Evidence bag for her to drop it into. "But I estimate he's been dead around two hours possibly a little more."  
  
Nathan noticed that Amanda was staring at the body a slightly puzzled expression on her face. "Something wrong?" He asked.  
  
Amanda looked up at him. "No, it's just that I've attended lots of suicides and ODs and they almost always have their eyes closed." She glanced around. "No signs of a struggle and there's no obvious bruising on the body. It certainly looks self administered." She turned back to him. "What did the note say?"  
  
"Oh plenty," Nathan replied, "it's a full confession, taking responsibility for what happened at the clinic." He gestured for Amanda to precede him into the study and they moved as he continued speaking. "He apparently hired Robert Hughes and his half brother, a guy called Byron Cooper to break into and shoot up the clinic."  
  
"Does he give a reason?" Amanda asked. They had arrived at the desk in the corner of the room and Nathan had picked up the letter which was housed in a plastic bag.  
  
"Yes, apparently he wanted James Whitmore killed."  
  
"One of the two men shot in the head?"  
  
"Yes," Nathan pointed at the note, "It's all in there. He even confesses to killing his receptionist Sarah Mackay and Saul Reeve in the hospital. It seems Whitmore was blackmailing him, something to do with finding out about financial irregularities from when the clinic opened."  
  
Amanda searched her memory. "Whitmore worked for an accountancy firm."  
  
Nathan nodded "The same firm which handled the accounts for the Hillside Clinic. Apparently there were two sets of books. That's what Evans was destroying, the duplicate books. He arrived back at the clinic at around six and realised that everything had gone wrong, he couldn't risk the second set of books being found so he shredded them. He killed Sarah, like we figured, because he couldn't risk her telling anyone that the silent alarm had been disconnected. He even confesses to getting Byron to shoot at Jesse and Mark because he didn't want them investigating and was worried after Mark saw him at the clinic."  
  
"And Saul Reeve?"  
  
"He was afraid that Reeve had seen him on Saturday night and he didn't want to leave any loose ends."  
  
"So if he had everything worked out so well," Amanda looked back towards the body. "Why the decision to end it all?"  
  
"Seems he couldn't live with the guilt of being responsible for all those deaths," Nathan followed her gaze, "and he realised that we were closing in on him."  
  
Amanda continued to stare at the body. "Still, seems like a sudden change of heart. Saul Reeve was only killed yesterday. If he was having such an attack of conscience."  
  
".. then why commit another murder?" Nathan completed for her, it was a question he had been asking himself.  
  
Amanda turned to look at him and nodded.  
  
"I guess there's no easy answer to that, but one thing is for sure. Dr. Evans is very dead."  
  
Amanda took the letter in the evidence bag. It was typed but had been signed in ink at the end.  
  
"The signature looks genuine and there are only his prints on the computer keyboard," Nathan said, intuitively answering her questions.  
  
Amanda finished her brief perusal of the writing and handed the bag back. "OK I'll get back to the hospital and let you know what I find."  
  
Nathan took the note. "I'm going to finish up here and then head back to the clinic. I want to tell Mrs. Edmonds about this in person and, in light of the confession, I guess we can dispense with her checking through the records. I'll join you at the hospital when I'm done."  
  
Amanda nodded and headed back for the car, part of her very relieved that they finally had an explanation for what had happened. This, along with Linda Wright's statement, definitely let Steve off the hook as far as the negligence charges went and would hopefully satisfy the media's thirst for someone to blame. However, she couldn't help the niggling feeling that all was not as it seemed.  
  
--  
  
Mark sat in bed and watched Steve sleep, contemplating the changes that had occurred in the last few hours. Linda Wright's statement had been only the first step in events set to completely change their circumstances. As news of Dr. Evans' confession and suicide filtered through, it became clear that the charges against Steve would be dropped, within the hour lieutenant Stiles had returned to the hospital to go through the formalities.  
  
Then came news of the press conference. In light of the new evidence the department were suddenly one hundred per cent behind their officer, and keen to reverse any negative publicity. Officials who had been keen to distance themselves from the lieutenant who had caused deaths by his negligence, were now keen to support him. The chief of police made a long speech about the professionalism of his officers and pointed out that Steve's actions were not only justified but could be considered heroic, his attempt to prevent an apparently crazed gunman from killing more people was an action that deserved commendation.  
  
The media that had been ready to crucify Steve now held him up as an unsung hero, his service record was now portrayed as that of a good and noble police officer, some of the same incidents that had been used to show him as reckless, were now examples to demonstrate his heroism, his willingness to put himself on the line to save others.  
  
Mark had marveled at how fickle they all were. He watched the coverage in Jesse's room, Steve had drifted off to sleep and Mark had moved across the hall to watch the press conference, curious as to what they would say. A part of him could not help becoming angry. Where had the support been only a few days ago when Steve had really needed it and been no less deserving of it? Why had they not waited until they had all of the facts before almost destroying not only Steve's reputation but the man himself? Tempering the anger, however, was a feeling of relief, at least Steve would now receive the support he deserved and maybe that would help him to come to terms with what had happened.  
  
When Mark had returned to their room Steve was still asleep so he had climbed quietly back into his own bed and considered what would come next. From the way the chief and the media were talking it seemed that everybody considered the case to be closed, the culprit punished by his own hand, but Mark, like Amanda, had an inkling that it wasn't going to be as simple as that . Dr. Evans' confession certainly tied up a lot of loose ends but there were still a number of things bothering Mark, including that nagging feeling that there was still something that he was missing.  
  
The police department were going to want to stamp a big case closed over the whole incident. The publicity surrounding it had done no one any favours and a prolonged investigation would not be a popular move, but if there were others out there that were responsible for what had happened, then Mark knew that he needed to see them brought to justice, he looked across at his son, for Steve's sake and for the sake of the fifteen people who had died.  
  
--  
  
Nathan arrived at the hospital late in the afternoon, as soon as he had left the crime scene Captain Newman had called him back to the precinct and demanded a full report. It seemed that the chief wanted to get the jump on any publicity surrounding the latest developments in the case, and wanted to call a press conference before anything leaked out. So Nathan had quickly typed up everything that he had, before being allowed to head out to the clinic to see Mrs. Edmonds.  
  
She had delayed him further by insisting on finishing what she had started. Although she seemed a little shocked by the news about Dr. Evans, more by his part in the killings than by his suicide, it had not prevented her from going back to her records. She already had a neat list of anomalies from the files that she had checked and insisted that she be allowed to complete it. Nathan had tried to point out that the work was no longer needed, that Dr. Evans had confessed to being there to shred a set of duplicate books, but Mrs. Edmonds would not be deterred.  
  
"If a job is worth starting then it is worth finishing," she had said. "Now sit down quietly and it shouldn't take me much longer."  
  
Nathan had considered pointing out that circumstances had changed since the job had started but realised that he would be wasting his breath. He sighed and took a seat in the corner of the room. Mrs. Edmonds had been nice enough to agree to help them, and he knew himself that he hated to start something and not finish it, so he had decided to give her another half hour, it would give him a chance to gather his thoughts, it had been a pretty hectic day so far  
  
Just over thirty minutes later, Mrs. Edmonds had walked over and handed him a neatly written list with around a dozen items on it. He had thanked her for her time and folded it carefully before putting it in the back of his notebook. He had then given her a lift home before heading for the hospital. He could have asked one of the uniformed officers who had stayed with her to take her but felt he owed her the personal touch.  
  
His first stop at the hospital was to see Amanda but she was still waiting for test results so he had headed down to see Mark. He knew that Mark would want to see a copy of the suicide note for himself and discuss the latest developments. Dr. Taylor was there when he arrived.  
  
"I'm sorry I'll come back in a while," Nathan said.  
  
Dr. Taylor looked up from the notes he had been making on Steve's chart. "No that's OK, I've just finished here." He looked across at Mark "I'll come back later to talk about discharging you once I've checked on Dr. Travis."  
  
"Thanks Bill," Mark said, shifting his position in the bed, he was a little distracted by Nathan's arrival. He had lots of questions for the young detective.  
  
Bill Taylor stopped in the doorway, "I'll bring Dr. Travis over when I've finished, I get a feeling he's going to want to be involved in whatever you're discussing."  
  
Mark turned to look at him, grateful for his colleagues' astuteness, "That would be good, thanks."  
  
--  
  
Twenty minutes later when Jesse joined them, both Mark and Steve had had chance to read through Dr. Evans' confession and the copy of the letter was handed to Jesse so that he could do the same.  
  
"So he confirms everything that we thought," Mark said, "Robert Hughes was just pretending to be crazy to cover up a murder."  
  
Nathan nodded, "As far as we can tell, Byron Cooper has been hiring himself out as a killer for quite some time now, but we've never been able to pin anything on him. Downtown Homicide think he's responsible for at least four deaths. Younger brother Robert hasn't been linked to any of them so far, so the thinking is that this was his first outing."  
  
"Following in his elder half brothers footsteps?" Steve questioned.  
  
"Looks that way."  
  
"So why didn't Byron's name come up in any of the checks when we were checking for Robert Hughes' associates?" Mark asked.  
  
"It did," Nathan replied. "It just turns out that virtually no one knew they were related. Byron Cooper was brought up in the suburbs, wealthy middle class background, people knew that he hung around with Hughes but not that they had family connections."  
  
Steve took a deep breath, he didn't really want to ask the next question but knew that he had to. "Do you have a photograph?" He paused, "I could confirm whether or not he was the second gunman."  
  
Nathan looked at him. "You don't really have to, we have his DNA on file, they're cross checking it with the blood we found at the scene."  
  
"But if you catch him and this goes to trial, an ID from me will still be needed," Steve said, touched by the sensitivity of the young officer.  
  
Nathan took out the file photograph and handed it across, as Steve looked at it, for a brief second he was propelled back into his nightmare, the expression on the photograph morphed into the leering one he had seen as Byron had callously opened fire, his eyes hard and full of hate. Steve swallowed. No one who had seen his reaction would have been left in any doubt that this was the face of the killer, and Steve's whispered confirmation, "Yes, that's him," was largely redundant.  
  
Nathan took the picture back and replaced it in the file. "There's an APB out for him but he hasn't been seen in any of his usual haunts for the past week."  
  
Jesse had finished reading and looked up handing the photocopy back to Nathan. "So I guess once he's been caught that wraps things up."  
  
Nathan nodded..  
  
Mark considered not saying anything, Dr. Evans death brought a neat resolution which most people would be happy with. They could put the whole thing behind them and start getting on with their lives. Steve, in particular, would benefit from believing that the situation was resolved, but the desire to see justice done was too strong. "I'm not so sure," he said, everyone turned to look at him. "It's all too easy and there are several things that have happened over the last few days that just don't fit."  
  
"Such as?" Nathan asked  
  
"Well there's the involvement of the assistant DA for a start, with what Mrs. Edmonds told Amanda about her meetings with Dr. Evans and her insistence on pushing the prosecution against Steve, I don't believe her involvement is just coincidental."  
  
"And there's the whole business with the missing ballistics report," Jesse chipped in. "there's no way Evans could have organised that."  
  
Nathan had his own uneasiness with the suicide and confession but he decided to play Devils advocate. "It could just be that he and the assistant DA are old friends and he persuaded her to help him out without letting her know his real involvement."  
  
Mark shook his head, every instinct told him that there was something bigger going on. "No, our Ms Gray isn't that naive, if she is involved in this then she knows exactly what happened and why."  
  
"And don't you think the timing of Evans' suicide, just when we were gathering evidence against him, is awfully convenient," Steve added  
  
"Perhaps because it wasn't a suicide." All eyes turned to Amanda as she moved into the room carrying a file folder which she handed to Nathan.  
  
"The drugs in the syringe didn't kill him?" Nathan asked as he tried to assimilate this latest piece of information.  
  
Amanda pulled up a chair for herself. "Oh that killed him all right but it wasn't self administered." She sat and looked at the expectant faces as they waited for her to elaborate. "The drug cocktail in the syringe was the sort favoured by those doctors that practice euthanasia and Dr. Evans prints were found on the syringe and on the bottles used to fill it. There were also no signs of bruising on the body." She was enjoying telling the tale, pleased with herself since she knew that most of her colleagues would have stopped their checks there and put it down as a suicide, especially since the blood work came back with only those drugs found in the syringe. She waited for the inevitable question.  
  
"So if he prepared the syringe, what makes you think that he didn't inject it himself?" Jesse obliged.  
  
"Because," Amanda supplied, "he was already unconscious when the lethal dose was administered. One of the drugs used is a powerful sedative, in euthanasia cases it makes the whole thing painless. I found traces of the same drug in his stomach. Someone used it to knock him out and then administered the rest through the syringe in his arm so that it would look like a suicide, and if I hadn't had the stomach contents analysed they would have succeeded."  
  
"Hold on," Nathan said, remembering the staring lifeless eyes, he hadn't worked homicide that long that such things didn't still get to him, he sometimes wondered if they always would, although he had got over the propensity to lose his lunch when he first viewed a victim. "If he was unconscious when the drugs were administered than how come his eyes were open when we found him?"  
  
"Oh it seems our killer has a sense of the theatrical," Amanda said, "His eyes were opened after he was dead."  
  
--  
  
Byron opened the door to the hotel room and gestured to Peter who entered gratefully. After the first flight he had expected to be stopping in Columbia for a while, after all the whole point of leaving was to get out of US jurisdiction wasn't it? So the next two charter flights had been something of a surprise. They hadn't stopped travelling and now were back in Mexico and Peter knew there were a lot less circuitous routes that could have brought them to this place. Still Byron did not seem to be in the mood to be questioned, so he had just followed as he usually did and waited patiently for the explanation.  
  
Byron checked out the beds and claimed the one he wanted, leaving Peter to go over to the other.  
  
"Get some sleep you've got a lot of driving to do tomorrow and we'll be making an early start." Byron said.  
  
There was the opening he'd been waiting for. Some chance to ask about what they were doing. Peter sank down onto his bed "Driving?"  
  
"Yep, It's still a long way back to LA and I don't want to leave it too long before we get back there."  
  
Peter was thoroughly confused now. "But I thought."  
  
"You thought we were running away," Byron interrupted, enjoying his companions confusion, it was one more part of the mental control, keeping Peter in the dark about his plans. "No, no, I've got some unfinished business in LA, remember." His voice took on a hard edge. "A certain police officer who killed my little brother." He moved to sit next to him. "It was your idea to make sure that he paid, wasn't it?"  
  
Peter swallowed, Byron's proximity, his tone were all designed to intimidate and they were succeeding, and the worst thing about the whole situation was that Byron was enjoying it, and Peter knew it. He regretted his decision to ask. "Yes," he admitted, "but why did we.."  
  
Byron interrupted him once more. "Why did we leave at all?" He paused, putting his arm around Peter's neck, pressing slightly too hard for it to be friendly. "Because the police were going to be closing in on us," another squeeze, "but we just left a trail to Columbia that even a small child could follow, so now the last place they will look for us is LA." He took Peter's chin in his hand, again squeezing slightly too tightly, and turned him to face him. "Leaving us free to take our revenge. Brilliant isn't it?"  
  
"Yes," Peter answered quickly, talk of revenge had left that insane and very dangerous glint in Byron's eye.  
  
"Of course it is," Byron said, standing abruptly, and using the grip he had to shove Peter roughly back down on the bed. "Now get some sleep, like I said we've got a lot of driving to do tomorrow."  
  
Relieved as he watched Byron walk away Peter quickly scrambled out of his clothes and climbed under the sheets taking refuge there.  
  
Byron moved back to his own bed and kicked off his boots then he dropped onto it and put his hands behind his head. It wasn't really satisfying intimidating Peter any more, it was all too easy, his reactions predictable, maybe after this he would get rid of him, find himself another driver come dogsbody. He looked over, Peter was already curled up under the blankets. "Peter, get the lights," he commanded and obediently Peter got up and turned them off. Byron smiled, then again, it was always useful to have someone who obeyed without question.  
  
He settled back to concentrate on more pleasant thoughts, the details of what he was going to do when he got back to LA. 


	24. Catharsis

Part 24 Catharsis  
  
"Why not," Amanda asked a slight petulance to her tone.  
  
"Because it's too much to ask of you honey," Mark said, trying to convey his gratitude whilst refuting the offer.  
  
Amanda looked him in the eye, "But you're not asking, I'm volunteering," she replied, trying to twist the words that were being used to decline her plan.  
  
"I know, but have you really thought about it, I mean all three of us, it's a lot to take on?" Mark continued keeping his own tone soft.  
  
"You can say that again," Jesse interrupted, "I mean I, of course, would be the model patient, but you've seen how Steve is when he's sick and Mark well."  
  
"Hey," Steve batted Jesse with one of the files that had been left on his bed, "Speak for yourself, neither me nor dad has caused any of the nurses to threaten to resign."  
  
Jesse, seated on the chair between father and son's beds, turned to look at his business partner and friend, "That's not fair, I apologised for.."  
  
"See what I mean," Mark said drawing Amanda's attention back from the friendly argument.  
  
"Oh don't worry," Amanda said, "I've had enough practice dealing with two sons, I'm sure I can cope with these two."  
  
"But what about the boys." Mark tried a new line of reasoning. "What will they do whilst you're looking after the three of us."  
  
Amanda smiled, "Well my mom is staying with them at the house and she's going to be here for the next two weeks. She's more than happy to take care of them for me, and it's not as if I won't see them, they can come visit or I can go to them."  
  
"What about work?" Mark tried.  
  
"Two weeks leave of absence booked and approved, I've handed all my open case files over and anything new will be handled by my replacement for the next two weeks."  
  
" But.." Mark began but the truth was he was running out of arguments.  
  
"Look," Amanda said, her determined tone softening. "You've all been through a lot in the last week, and I've been worried about all of you." She sat on the edge of Mark's bed and looked at each of them in turn. "Please let me do this to help you?"  
  
Mark's skepticism melted. When Amanda had first suggested her idea that the three of them be discharged into her care at the beach house, despite his own desire to go home and to get Steve home, his first thought had been for the responsibility she would be taking on. Truth was none of them were renowned for being easy to deal with when they were ill, quite the reverse. Not that any of them were deliberately difficult, they all just found it hard to allow others to do things for them.  
  
Even though they were all well on the way to recovery, their injuries meant that they would still need help with basic tasks, and Mark did not want to put that burden on to her, holding down a full time job and bringing up two children was enough for anyone.  
  
He studied the determined and hopeful expression on her face. She certainly wasn't the sort of person to go into this without considering all of the implications, and it would be so good to get home. "If you're sure?" He said giving her one final chance to retract her offer.  
  
Amanda affectionately squeezed his ankle through the blanket, "Of course I'm sure. I'll go and let Dr. Taylor know and make arrangements for the morning." She stood and headed for the door.  
  
"Amanda," Mark's voice stopped her as she reached the doorway, she turned. "I think you're crazy taking this on but I," he turned to look at his son and his friend and saw the expected gratitude reflected in their expressions. "We," he corrected himself, "are all very grateful."  
  
She didn't answer, just smiled once more and nodded before heading out of the door.  
  
--  
  
Steve sat on the edge of the bed and tried to calm his breathing. He looked behind him, at least the nightmare hadn't woken his father this time. He swallowed and took a deep breath trying to slow his racing heartbeat. For the next few minutes that was all he concentrated on, breathing slowly in and out, trying to banish the terrifying images from his thoughts. He was careful not to make any noise. He had spent most of the day in a part drug induced sleep and he was reluctant to take any more sedatives. Surely they were just masking the problem not helping to solve it.  
  
He shivered involuntarily, the cold sweat brought on by the nightmare had left his skin damp, the evaporation causing a sudden chill. He swung his legs back on to the bed and pulled the blankets up trying to get warm, and tried hard to think of positive things. Dwelling on the substance of the nightmare and the attached emotions was not going to give him any peace.  
  
Tomorrow, thanks to Amanda's intervention, he was going home. He relaxed back onto the pillows and a slight smile crossed his face as he remembered Jesse's enthusiasm at the prospect of being able to leave the hospital. His dad too, once he had repressed his qualms about asking too much of Amanda, had seemed much brighter, the more familiar setting of the beach house would be a boost to all of them, a chance to get back to normal.  
  
Like a trigger to a dark switch, that last thought reversed the bright memories for dark questions. Back to normal, how could he ever get back to normal again? After what he had witnessed, what he had caused, would he ever be able to feel the contentment and security that he once had? Did he deserve those emotions when there were others who would never feel again?  
  
Tears threatened to fall, he clenched his fists until he could feel the skin stretch on the knuckles and the nails biting into his palms, taking a deep breath, he consciously halted the downward spiral of emotion.  
  
Damn, so much for trying to focus on the positive. He closed his eyes and, not for the first time, tried very hard to think of nothing at all.  
  
--  
  
The next morning passed in a blur, Dr. Taylor insisted on giving Steve a final battery of tests and X-rays to reassure himself that there was nothing missed, but by eleven o'clock he was prepared to sign the release, satisfied that they had done all they could for him. All he really needed now was plenty of rest.  
  
Amanda had arranged to take Steve and Mark first, before picking up Jesse in the afternoon, bringing him via his apartment so that he could collect some of his things.  
  
She placed her car at one of the back entrances to the hospital, there seemed to be no less press interest in Steve the hero than there had been in Steve the villain, and she did not want them to have to fight through a melee of reporters. Having checked that she hadn't been seen, she headed up to their room.  
  
Both Sloan men had big smiles on their faces when she entered, neither was genuine.  
  
Mark had his own uneasiness about leaving the security of the hospital, but he knew how Steve hated to be there and, given his son's still all too fragile mental state, he had agreed to Amanda's plan. If getting Steve to the familiarity of his home would in any way help to boost his recovery, then Mark would have done anything to make that happen and, from what he could see, the prospect of leaving the hospital was having a positive effect.  
  
Steve kept up the pretense that he wanted to go home to keep his father from further worry, but the truth was he was afraid. Afraid that the confusion of emotions he was feeling would overwhelm him once more. Afraid to even make a start at putting his life back together. Here in the artificial, protected world of the hospital, he could ignore such concepts. At home he would not be able to.  
  
Amanda pushed one of the wheelchairs that would convey them out of the hospital, a nurse the other. "Are you two ready?" She asked.  
  
Father looked at son, but still they masked their feelings in an effort to support the other. "As we'll ever be," Steve replied.  
  
The only way to the beach house that did not involve an impractically long detour was to drive along PCH past the clinic, and that fact was not lost on any of them. Mark and Amanda wondered how Steve would handle it and both, independently, resolved to give him as much or as little support as he needed.  
  
Steve, knew that he was not ready and so dealt with it the only way he could. He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the headrest, feigning sleep until Amanda gently rocked his shoulder and told him that he was home.  
  
--  
  
It was two o'clock by the time Nathan pulled up at the Sloan's house. The uniformed police officer, stationed there for the dual purpose of keeping the press at bay and protecting Mark, Steve and Jesse from further attacks, asked to see his badge and then waved him through.  
  
He noted, with some satisfaction, that Amanda's car was already there, which meant that she must have returned with Jesse. At least that meant he would only have to deliver his news once. It was news that none of them were going to like.  
  
Nathan waited until everyone was seated at the dining table at the back of the house, giving nothing away, apart from the fact that he had some news about the case. He nervously tapped the file folder in front of him. Noting his demeanor, no one was surprised at his opening remark.  
  
"I'm afraid the news that I have is all bad," Nathan began, his tone almost apologetic. "First of all we have definite proof that Byron Cooper left the country. He boarded a plane from LAX yesterday afternoon travelling to Columbia, and, since we currently have no extradition treaty, there's very little chance that he will ever be caught and brought to justice for his part in what happened." He looked round at the assembled group, expecting questions, when he got none he continued. "He wasn't alone, he appears to have been accompanied by a Peter Watkins, small time crook and known associate and probably the person who drove them to the clinic on Saturday night and stayed with the car on PCH, an accessory before and after the fact. We also have reason to believe he was driving when Mark and Jesse were attacked. "  
  
"Are they sure it was him?" Amanda asked  
  
"Yes, Byron's name was issued to all airports and ports and one of the staff recognised it and gave us a positive ID."  
  
Mark looked surprised. "They traveled under their own names?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What time did they leave?" Jesse was curious about how close they had come to being caught. After all the APB had gone out just after the confession was found and if they were not using aliases it must have been a close call.  
  
"12.37 p.m. around the time we found Dr. Evan's body."  
  
"Convenient," Amanda interjected. "That they should leave the country nearly a week after the attack but just as we found out who they were."  
  
Nathan turned to look at her. "The thinking is that Evan's warned them about what he was about to do."  
  
"Hardly an act of contrition then," Amanda stated. "If he was supposedly feeling guilty about the crimes, why help the person who actually pulled the trigger get away?"  
  
Nathan shrugged, "I didn't say it was my thinking." He paused and studied everyone at the table, delaying what he had to say next for as long as possible. "Look, the DA's office and the Chief have ordered the case closed, loose ends are being explained away, the task force has been disbanded and everyone, including me, has been reassigned."  
  
This declaration left everyone at the table in stunned silence. It was Mark who managed to pull himself together first to ask a question. "What about Dr. Evans' murder?"  
  
Nathan shifted uncomfortably. "Officially, having confessed fully to his part in the crimes, Dr. Evan's committed suicide, the only other people involved have fled our jurisdiction, hence case closed."  
  
"But what about Amanda's autopsy report?" Jesse asked.  
  
"Apparently the DA's office were unhappy with the findings of the original report and ordered a new one to be done by Amanda's replacement this morning. His findings show that levels of sedative present within the stomach were consistent with traces that would be found after a large intravenous injection. He refutes the idea that any sedative was ingested and has declared it a suicide."  
  
"Amanda?" Mark asked turning to look at her, wanting to know if there was any possibility that she could have been wrong in what she had told them last night. One look at the shocked expression on her face told him all he needed to know.  
  
"No," She shook her head, "No way, the levels of sedative in the stomach were far too high, even if he'd survived for longer than he did, giving them time to circulate into his system, there is no way they would be present in the stomach contents in the quantities I found." She looked pointedly at Nathan. "Do you have a copy of this report?"  
  
Nathan pushed the file copy over. "I had to call in several favours to get this, like I say officially the case is closed."  
  
Amanda opened it and rapidly scanned the contents. After only a minute she put it down, shock had turned to anger. "The test results have been altered, the sedative levels in the stomach were 20 times higher than is stated here. I double checked the findings myself before submitting the report. How could anyone, Why would anyone do that?"  
  
"To make a murder look like a suicide." Mark stated. "With Dr. Evan's dead and taking the blame for everything then whoever is really responsible gets away free and clear." He paused, "I should have known that something like this would happen, after all we already suspect a conspiracy by people high enough up to loose ballistics reports and force bogus charges through." He looked at Amanda. "And I'm afraid by taking a leave of absence right after filing your autopsy report, we've played right into their hands. With Dr. Evans death ruled as a suicide there's no reason to keep the case open, as Nathan said, all of the loose ends appear to be tied up."  
  
Steve hadn't spoken up to this point, he hadn't felt able to  
  
Since arriving home, he had been trying to make sense of how he was feeling, the familiar surroundings had somehow seemed alien to him, as though he was detached from the reality of where he was and what he was doing. He knew that sitting here at the back table discussing a case, bouncing ideas off each other, was something he should feel comfortable with. He'd done this a hundred times and yet this time it felt different, as though he wasn't quite part of it, and it wasn't just because he was so emotionally involved in the case under discussion, there was more to it than that. The barriers that he had built to prevent being overwhelmed by the negative emotions were masking any sort of response, and they were becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.  
  
"Good," he said quietly, "I'm glad the case is closed, now maybe we can all get on with our lives."  
  
The debate around the table had been about to get lively, as everyone had their own questions and theories about where to go from here, but Steve's quiet comment stunned them all into silence once more. They all watched as he pushed his chair back and headed for the kitchen.  
  
Mark considered for a moment and then followed him.  
  
Watching his son retrieve a beer from the fridge Mark debated what to say. Usually Steve would be right there with them, trying to figure out who was trying to evade justice, but, he had been through so much, Mark could understand his desire to see the whole thing over. He decided to concentrate on the practical first. "Steve, I don't think that's a good idea," he said as gently as he could, "With the medication you're on."  
  
For a brief second Steve's anger flared, "No I can't just get a beer for myself can I?" He was almost shouting. "Because that would be normal.. familiar and things aren't normal are they?" He wasn't conscious of throwing the bottle or of dropping it but he heard the crash as the glass shattered, felt the spray of cold liquid up his legs and looked down to see the scattered remnants. He stared at the growing pool of frothing, amber liquid by his feet, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm sorry," he said, without looking up, then he crouched down and began to pick up the pieces.  
  
Mark moved into the room, wanting desperately to help, not just physically but emotionally too.  
  
Steve looked up, "Please, I'll do this," he said, his tone tight, controlled, "I need to sort it out myself," he added, the double meaning clear.  
  
Mark nodded, knowing that he needed to give Steve space, hoping that he would be able to come to him when he was ready. Without another word he left the room, ushering Jesse and Amanda, who had come to find out what the crash was, away.  
  
--  
  
For the next hour they had discussed the case, Amanda even considered returning to work so that she could repeat the autopsy for a third time, but Mark pointed out that it would probably be fruitless, there had been plenty of time to contaminate any evidence that there was, besides he was betting on a speedy cremation at some unknown relatives insistence.  
  
There was also the fact that the person or people responsible were clever and ruthless and, if they knew that Amanda was going to try to spoil their plans, they may decide to try to stop her.  
  
Their only option was to continue to investigate and hope that they could find other evidence to corroborate the idea that Dr. Evans had been murdered, that his confession contained only part of the truth, but it was the fact that it was based in truth that was going to make that task so difficult to accomplish.  
  
There was only one interruption in that time, about twenty minutes after the incident in the kitchen, they heard the door and all watched as Steve made his way outside. He walked down the steps at the edge of the deck and disappeared from view for a short time before being clearly seen walking out towards the ocean. When he got to the water's edge he stopped and stood staring out at the breaking waves. From then on, every so often one of them would look out of the window and, seeing that he was still there, would turn their attention back to the discussion.  
  
By the time Nathan left it was late afternoon and, aside from their suspicion that the Assistant DA was involved, they were no further along. The news of the faked autopsy had thrown them all and they just couldn't seem to focus on the direction they should take next. Mark's distraction in worrying about Steve did not help.  
  
Nathan promised to come back the following morning, hoping to attack the problem again with clearer heads.  
  
Mark escorted him to the door. "Thanks for coming out and bringing us the news."  
  
"It was the least I could do," Nathan said, opening the door. Spotting the Black and White at the top of the drive, he turned back, "I managed to persuade the Captain to leave the police guard here because, despite the other case being closed, we still have no idea who poisoned Steve, he's also got instructions to keep the media away."  
  
Mark looked over Nathan's shoulder spotting the car himself, once again he found himself grateful for this young detective's thoughtfulness, "It's much appreciated, thanks."  
  
--  
  
Steve had made his way across the sand, needing to be alone, needing to feel the spray from the ocean on his face, hoping that it was something he could feel a part of, not detached from. He noticed but ignored a couple of photographers who had started snapping his picture as soon as he had emerged on to the deck. The sunlight glinting off their lenses gave them away but he was past caring about such things.  
  
As far as the world was concerned yesterday he had been a guilty man, responsible for the deaths of all those people. Today he was exonerated, innocent of all charges.  
  
The department, the DA's office, the media and all those who read and watched the reports had tried and acquitted him in one day, just as quickly as they had found him guilty less than a week ago. They did not need him, they now had a new villain to pin their blame on, caring no more about the truth now than they had before, as long as they had someone, and the sad thing was, it could be anyone, to blame.  
  
If only he could clear his own conscience so easily, a false smile, a rapidly written speech, the sweep of a pen, the tapping of a keyboard and hey presto - absolution, forgiveness from the guilt and pain, the burden of responsibility for his actions. If only it was that easy.  
  
He looked up as a gull screeched overhead. It could never be that easy, those that he really needed forgiveness from were no longer around to grant it, and even if they were, could he ever forgive himself for his own inadequacies?  
  
So what was he going to do? How was he going to handle this mix of negative emotions so that it didn't drag him into permanent depression and despair?  
  
Big questions for which he had no answers, he looked down at the ocean again and felt the spray blow into his face as the sea breeze caught the tops of the breaking waves. He needed to start smaller, just needed to feel something that wasn't bad, so he concentrated on trying to appreciate the ocean's spray.  
  
--  
  
The Sun was just meeting the water on the horizon when he felt the presence of someone behind him, whoever it was stopped a few feet away. They both stood and watched the elongated image of the Sun's clear round disc as it appeared to dance across the water's surface. Neither man spoke until half of the disc had disappeared, sinking slowly over the horizon.  
  
"Did my dad send you?" Steve asked, he wasn't sure how he knew it was Jesse, the figure remained behind him and he hadn't turned. He just knew.  
  
"No," Jesse said clearing his throat, "Yes.. that is. not exactly."  
  
Steve nodded very slightly and waited for his friend to elaborate.  
  
Jesse had been quiet up to that point because he was still figuring out what to say, unsure of where to start or if his comments would make things worse not better. "It's getting kinda late and without the Sun it's going to be really cold out here and you just got out of the hospital and we are all doctors and we were kinda worried because you've been standing out here an awful long time and." Jesse let the slightly babbled speech tail off as Steve turned to look at him. Considering how long he had been preparing what he was going to say, that had sounded lame even to his own ears.  
  
"I'm OK," Steve said turning back out to face the ocean.  
  
Jesse was disappointed, he took the comment as a dismissal, so much for getting Steve to come back to the house. "All right," he said, turning to leave, maybe his being there wouldn't help. "I'll be at the house if you need."  
  
"When it's quiet like this," Steve said, his tone conversational, "unless I make myself think of something else, I can still hear the screams."  
  
Jesse stopped in his tracks and turned back.  
  
"They start faintly and build up until I can't think clearly, and I have to block them out."  
  
Jesse was once again at a loss for words, "Steve I."  
  
"I lied in my statement," Steve interrupted, his tone still even despite the fact that tears welled in his eyes. "I said that I blacked out, that I woke up when it was all over, but I didn't," The tears were falling freely now. "I heard everything, every bullet, I knew what he was doing, I still had my gun in my hand but I couldn't move, I couldn't stop him." He turned to meet Jesse's gaze, "God help me, Jess, I tried but I couldn't stop him." He looked down at his left hand, "I couldn't raise my arm, couldn't lift the gun.."  
  
"Hey," it was Jesse's turn to interrupt, "It's OK, Steve, listen to me, with the injuries you sustained I'm surprised that you didn't black out, but even though you didn't there is no way that you would have been able to move for several minutes. The blows to the chest blocked off your oxygen supply and probably sent you into shock." Jesse searched his expression. "Steve you do understand what I'm saying to you?" He paused waiting until Steve met his gaze once more. "You couldn't have done any more to stop him. No one could. The injuries prevented that."  
  
Jesse watched and waited for his words to penetrate.  
  
Steve wasn't sure what had made him open up to Jesse at that moment, maybe it was just the fact that he was there at a point when he was considering his emotions, whatever the reason he realised that something important had just happened. The last part of the guilt that he had been repressing was out in the open, justified or not he could now start to deal with it.  
  
"But I should have been able to do something, maybe if I." Steve began, the guilt driving him to refute Jesse's assertion.  
  
"What, maybe if you were stronger, faster," Jesse's tone showed a little exacerbation. He shook his head, "No one could have done more than you, most people wouldn't even have had the guts to try."  
  
"But.. I.was there, I."  
  
"No, it wasn't possible," Jesse's voice was firm, "you have to face up to it Steve you're only human, you're not superman."  
  
Steve stared deep into his friend's eyes and found the sincerity he sought. These were not idle reassurances, Jesse was just being honest with him. He looked away for a moment and composed himself, feeling as though a huge weight had lifted from his shoulders  
  
Jesse watched concerned, he now had an even deeper understanding of the pain his friend was going through, he just hoped that his words had helped.  
  
Steve turned back to him, needing to break the intensely emotional atmosphere, he attempted a joke. "Good job too," he said, pausing for long enough for Jesse to look puzzled, "My legs look awful in tights."  
  
It took Jesse a moment to get the superman link, then he laughed. He looked down, "Oh I don't know."  
  
"Come on let's get inside," Steve said, paraphrasing Jesse's earlier words. "After all you just got out of the hospital and without the Sun it is getting kinda cold out here."  
  
"Wise words my friend," Jesse returned, grinning  
  
The two men walked in companionable silence across the beach until they were almost at the house, the path between the dunes narrowed and Jesse moved to walk in front.  
  
"Jess," Steve said, slightly hesitantly, his friend turned, "about what I said. about the clinic." He paused, "I plan on telling Dr. Carter, I think I need to but." He looked up to the light coming through the beach house doors, before looking back at Jesse. "Dad and Amanda."  
  
"It's OK, I won't tell them," Jesse reassured him.  
  
"Thanks," Steve said, adding quietly, "They're worried enough."  
  
Jesse shook his head, with all that he had been through, Steve still had a remarkable capacity for worrying about others before himself, gesturing for Steve to pass, he followed his friend indoors.  
  
--  
  
Mark tried to hide his relief when Steve walked through the door. He had been trying to keep himself occupied for the last couple of hours so that he wouldn't hover by the windows. One of the reasons that their relationship worked so well is that Mark was always prepared to give his son the space he needed, whilst being there to support him, but that knowledge did not make situations like these, where Steve was so clearly suffering, any easier for Mark to deal with.  
  
He had been worried himself about the physical effect standing out in the cold would have on Steve, and so had been relieved when Jesse had suggested going out to see if he could persuade him to come inside and had been surreptitiously watching the interaction ever since.  
  
"Would you two like a drink, something to eat?" he said, as casually as possible.  
  
"No," Steve said, yawning, "It's been a long day I'm going to turn in, but thanks."  
  
Mark turned to Jesse once he had left. "Is it my imagination or is there something different about him?"  
  
Jesse had noticed it too as he had walked back along the beach. There was nothing tangible but somehow Steve seemed better, more like himself. "I think maybe he managed to lay a few more ghosts to rest," he said.  
  
--  
  
Peter gently shook Byron awake. "You told me to wake you, we're at the border," he said nervously.  
  
Byron wiped the sleep from his eyes and straightened himself in the seat, there was a queue of about ten cars in front of them, all waiting patiently to be processed through the checkpoint. He looked at his companion, "I meant when we were actually there, tell me when we get to the guard," he leant his head back again and closed his eyes.  
  
"But..I.. the passports," Peter said.  
  
Byron sighed. "Are the best money can buy, not even the FBI can tell them from the genuine article, so what is your problem?"  
  
Peter licked his lips, his nerves had robbed him of his memory and if he messed this up. "I just need to see mine again, check the details."  
  
"Look, moron," Byron said agitatedly, "Your name is still Peter, only your second name has changed to Winters, your birthdate and place are the same as on the original." He looked across at his companion his voice dripping venom as he added, "You do know your own date of birth don't you?"  
  
Peter nodded and inched the car towards the border as the queue moved forwards.  
  
Byron, breathed deeply, it was a good job he hadn't shown Peter his other little purchases If he was this nervous over a little passport fraud, how much worse would he be if he knew he was smuggling arms.  
  
--  
  
Mark, Jesse and Amanda were once more sitting round the dining table, sipping coffee, Amanda had just returned from checking on Steve who was sleeping peacefully.  
  
The conversation had inevitably returned to the case and they had been talking it through, chronologically, to see if they could think of anything that they had missed  
  
"You know, apart from Steve, the one person I still feel really bad for in all of this," Jesse said, when they were talking through the events in the hospital, "Is Mary Ryland's father, I mean I know he attacked Steve, but the Media really set him up for that and." His voice tailed off as he recognised the expression on Mark's face.  
  
"That's it, that's what's been bothering me. Jess you're a genius."  
  
Jesse stared at him. "I know," he said, searching through his recollection of the last thing he had said to try to fathom why. As usual he had to ask "but why?" 


	25. House of Cards

Part 25 House of Cards  
  
Mark did not answer straight away, instead he went and retrieved the pile of newspapers for the past week. He hadn't paid as much attention to them as he would normally have done, when working on a case like this, because of their reports on Steve, and had only really started reading again once he was a patient himself in the hospital, now he hoped that they had the information he was looking for. He took the Sunday edition himself, it contained details of the victims, and handed the papers for the day after the attack on Steve to Amanda and Jesse. They just watched silently, waiting for the explanation that they knew would come.  
  
"That's what's been bothering me for the last few days but I couldn't quite bring it to mind. There was too much else going on at the time." He looked at Jesse. "Do you remember when Steve was attacked in the hospital by Mary Ryland's father?"  
  
Jesse nodded as the painful image of the frenzied beating his friend had taken, and of having to drag off the distraught attacker with Mark's help, was brought to mind.  
  
"Well after it we were too busy taking care of Steve to take much notice of what was happening," Mark continued, he did not mention his own emotional collapse. "but I did get to glance at the reports in the paper the next day. I didn't read them properly because of their bias, but I remember seeing the piece about Mary Ryland's father being arrested and the photograph of him and his wife being taken away in Nathan's car. That means that neither of them was at the clinic on the night of the attack. Now Mary Ryland was just twelve years old..."  
  
"So why was she at Dr. Evan's clinic without either of her parents," Amanda completed, catching on to his line of thinking.  
  
Mark nodded. "If either of them had been there they would have been caught up in the massacre."  
  
"Maybe they were both working?" Jesse suggested.  
  
Mark shook his head, Dr. Taylor had been right about him not missing a detail it had just taken him a while to put these details together. "No, her mother only works mornings and her father owns his own business, he could have taken time off if his daughter was sick, besides her appointment was at a quarter to six on a Saturday, so there's no reason why either of them couldn't have taken her."  
  
"A prior commitment, maybe dinner or the theatre or something?" Amanda asked  
  
Mark shook his head again. "No, if the parents were out enjoying themselves when all this happened then the papers would have made something of it."  
  
He looked thoughtfully down at the picture of the young girl on the front page of the paper he was holding. He was never sure why he picked up on certain details that seemed insignificant to other people, wasn't sure now why he was getting so excited about this, Amanda had just postulated a perfectly reasonable explanation for the facts, and yet he knew that somehow the death of this young girl held the key to solving the case.  
  
"OK," Amanda said, indicating the paper in front of her. "What are we looking for?"  
  
"Anything that indicates why she was there and who she was with."  
  
The three spent the next few minutes poring over the newspapers, before Jesse let out a gasp. "I think I just got the answer and a whole lot more questions."  
  
Amanda and Mark turned to look at him expectantly.  
  
"Mary Ryland was at the clinic with her maternal aunt Jennifer Thorson, who was also killed in the massacre." Jesse said, rechecking the details in the article in front of him. "Jennifer Thorson was married to David Thorson who works out of the DA's office as a state prosecutor "  
  
Mark looked gratified, that was too much to be coincidence, every instinct told him that they had indeed found something that would break the case. He cursed himself for not going through these newspaper reports more thoroughly earlier in the week. If he'd read the article that Jesse now held in his hand or if he'd asked Nathan to check on the background of the other victims at the clinic they might have picked up on this coincidence sooner.  
  
It was at this point that a chilling idea occurred to him. It was entirely possible that Steve had been set up from that first night to divert attention from what was really going on, the accusations of negligence, his arrest, all designed to prevent these facts being noticed. As he started to put all of the evidence from the last few days together it began to look like a cover up on a much larger scale than just one doctor trying to cover his involvement in a murder. He looked determinedly at his companions. "OK let's see if we can pick up anything else."  
  
--  
  
It was 9.30 by the time Nathan pulled his car into the drive at the beachhouse and he tried to stifle a yawn. The call from Mark had come at around midnight and it had resulted in a long list of tasks for him to fulfil. He hadn't made it into bed until around 1 a.m. and he had been up again at the crack of dawn. His mood and his news however were entirely the opposite of the previous day and, although he was tired, his steps were light as he made his way to the door. Mark's questions and theories had led to some very interesting discoveries.  
  
"Nathan," Amanda greeted him with a beaming smile. "Come in, we haven't been up long," she continued, leading him through to the dining table at the back of the house where Mark and Jesse sat sipping coffee.  
  
The three men exchanged greetings and Nathan sat, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee that Amanda handed to him.  
  
He shifted in his seat. "Is Steve around?" he asked not wanting to start until they were all assembled.  
  
"He was still asleep the last time I checked," Amanda replied.  
  
"Which must have been about half an hour ago," Steve said from the doorway. "I heard the doorbell," he added, as though he felt the need to explain his presence. He moved into the room and Amanda stood.  
  
"Coffee?" She asked, already moving towards the kitchen  
  
"Yes but I can." he let it tail off slightly. "Get it myself," he added as she handed him a cup.  
  
"Hey make the most of it," Amanda smiled. "It's not everyday that you can get me to wait on you."  
  
As Amanda and Steve settled themselves at the table Mark felt a surge of pleasure at the normality of the situation, surrounded by family and friends, the light banter, and the prospect of solving the case. It was almost enough to banish the anguish and fear of the last week.  
  
Everyone looked expectantly at Nathan. "So what did you find out?" Mark asked.  
  
"Well, enough that I made sure I didn't let anyone else know what I was looking for or that I was coming here this morning." Nathan replied, opening the file he brought with him. "I'm inclined to think that you're right and there is something very big going on here. For a start the records on this case are being closed out faster than any I've ever seen." He looked over at Steve. "You know what it's like, even when a case is closed the files and paperwork hang around on people's desks for days, sometimes weeks afterwards."  
  
Steve nodded, his own paperwork usually ended up in the latter category.  
  
"Well I got a memo this morning asking me to hand in my case files by the end of the day Fortunately, I was in early this morning so I managed to take copies without anyone else noticing." He looked at Mark. "You were asking about Jennifer Thorson and Mary Ryland."  
  
"Yes, there's quite a long piece in the paper about the Ryland's but virtually nothing about the aunt who was also killed, and nothing about why either of them were there."  
  
Nathan had been surprised when Mark had called and asked him to find out about these two victims in particular, given what he had found, however, his surprise had been short lived. He shook his head. "I'm afraid that I can't tell you anything more than you know, the papers have more in them than the police files."  
  
"But they say virtually nothing," Jesse said, shifting forward in his seat.  
  
Nathan turned to look at him. "I know, and since both of these people were victims of a violent crime, I would have expected there to be at least standard backgrounds, but it's not even recorded that Jennifer Thorson's husband works in the DA's office. There is no record of anyone interviewing him or even going out to tell him of his wife's death. "He looked at each member of his intent audience. "The only interview with the Rylands is the one I conducted about the attack on Steve. I assumed someone had already asked about their daughter but if they did there's no record of that either."  
  
Mark's mind worked rapidly. The lack of information served as confirmation for his theories. There was some connection here, that someone did not want to be made.  
  
"That's not the only anomaly," Nathan said after a slight pause to allow others to digest what he had told them. "On Saturday night Captain Newman assigned two officers to find out who had been speaking to the press, Detectives Malone and Walters," He looked at Mark again. "After what you said on the phone last night about the media being manipulated to divert attention, I checked out their report, they say they could find no evidence that anyone at the scene had spoken to anyone from the press. It doesn't even acknowledge the fact that the press reports carried information that could only have come from officers who went inside the clinic that night, The press stories are passed off as speculation based on officially released facts."  
  
"If you add all this to the fact that the ballistics report went missing and the results of my autopsy were changed...." Amanda began.  
  
"..Then it smacks of a cover up on a grand scale." Steve completed for her, not having been part of the previous evening's discussion he had been playing catch-up for most of the conversation, but now felt in a position to comment. "But what does all of this have to do with the death of a young girl and her aunt?"  
  
"That's what we still need to find out." Mark stated. "I assume the medical records from the clinic gave no clue as to why they were there?"  
  
Nathan looked at him and shook his head, then he remembered Mrs. Edmond's contribution from the day before. "Hold on a minute," he said taking the neatly folded piece of paper from the back of his notebook. He looked down the list. "Yes, here it is," he said pointing to a line on the paper. According to Mrs. Edmonds there were some sheets missing from Mary Ryland's file and," he pointed further down the sheet, "all details of Mrs. Thorson's last appointment had also been removed apart from on the backup disc. The Aunt was there last week but there are no details of why."  
  
"So I guess the only option left to us is to talk to Mary's parents and see if they can shed any light on this," Amanda said.  
  
Mark nodded, he was unsure what sort of reception they would get but, if they wanted to follow this up, it was their only choice. He looked first at Amanda "You and I'll go." Then he turned his attention to Steve and Jesse, "I have another job for you two."  
  
--  
  
Amanda pressed the doorbell and then stood back next to Mark, waiting patiently for an answer. She glanced up at the pleasant two story house and couldn't help but notice that the drapes were drawn, despite the fact that it was the middle of the day. They did not have to wait long for a response, The door opened a small amount, just enough for them to see the shadow of a woman's face.  
  
"Yes?" the woman said, there was no attempt at politeness in the enquiry but it was not hostile either, just flat.  
  
"Mrs. Ryland?" Mark asked moving his head so that she could get a clear view and so that he could see what little of her face was showing. He knew that to be invited in he may have to gain this woman's trust and a large part of that was done through eye contact. He received a barely perceptible nod in response to his question and so continued with his introduction. "I'm Dr. Mark Sloan, and this is Dr. Amanda Bentley and..."  
  
"I know who you are," Mrs. Ryland interrupted, "just a moment." There was a pause whilst the chain was removed and the door was opened. "I'm sorry I have to be careful," she continued her tone still lifeless. "The press.. I'm sure you understand."  
  
Mark nodded  
  
There was a slightly awkward pause, as Mark waited to see if they would be invited in, but Mrs. Ryland was in a state of grief that precluded the thought of social niceties, in fact she was beyond all but the most obvious of actions.  
  
"I know this is a difficult time for you," Mark said compassionately, he couldn't even contemplate the grief of losing a child, let alone one so young. "But I was wondering if we could ask you and your husband a few questions. We're trying to find out exactly why all of this happened."  
  
There was a brief spark of life in Joan Ryland's eyes as Mark verbalised the question she had been trying to make sense of for the last week, why had all of this happened, but it quickly died. She nodded and indicated that they should enter.  
  
Leading them to a darkened sitting room she informed them that she would fetch her husband, returning a few minutes later with a man who was a mere shadow of what he had once been.  
  
The last time Mark had seen John Ryland, had been when he had attacked Steve, only a few days earlier, and the change in the man was dramatic. His skin was pale and sallow and there were large dark circles under his eyes, everything about him, from his stance to the way he moved, suggested defeat. He slumped onto the couch opposite, sitting on the edge, his shoulder's stooped. If Mark held any feelings of anger towards him for what he had done to Steve, they melted into compassion as he watched the pathetic figure in front of him. Clearly the man was not coping with the grief and the consequences of his attack on Steve  
  
"Dr. Sloan," he began, his voice hesitant and laced with guilt. "I'm so very sorry about.. about your son.. I didn't mean... I'm sorry. I know now that he was only trying to help."  
  
Mark was momentarily lost for words, despite his sympathy and understanding for the man's pain he could not emotionally detach the fact that he had nearly killed Steve with his attack, forgiveness was beyond him, but he needed to say something in reply to this apology. "I understand," was the best he could manage, "but we're really here because we need your help. We need to ask you about your daughter, Mary."  
  
Joan Ryland had settled herself onto the couch next to her husband, she'd already taken his hand in hers, and Mark noticed the slight squeeze she gave at the mention of their daughter, clearly she had taken on the supportive role. She watched her husband for a moment before turning to answer him. "We'll tell you whatever we can, our daughter was our only child and she meant the world to us." she paused and glanced at her husband again before turning back to Mark and continuing. "If you can help to explain why this happened.." she let the sentence trail.  
  
"Thank you," Mark said, "Could you tell us why your daughter went to the clinic that night?"  
  
Mrs. Ryland shook her head, "I'm afraid I can't. Neither myself nor my husband knew that there was anything wrong."  
  
Amanda and Mark exchanged glances, that was not an answer they had been expecting.  
  
"She was with her aunt, your sister?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Yes," Joan squeezed her husband's hand again, "John has been having a lot of problems with the business recently, I've been trying to help him sort them out. So Mary has. had," she corrected herself, "been spending weekends with her aunt and uncle, so that we were able to work."  
  
Mark was carefully watching the reactions of the couple leaving Amanda to ask the questions for the moment.  
  
"And your sister, Mrs. Thorson, she didn't ring you to tell you that there was a problem?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Was that unusual?"  
  
Mrs. Ryland thought for a moment. "I would have expected her to let me know if there was something wrong, so I guess it must have been something minor."  
  
"No," John Ryland spoke firmly but it was clearly an effort to control his emotions. "We both know that's a lie." He looked at his wife. "We knew that there was something wrong but we.. No, I was too busy to do anything about it." He turned to look at Mark and Amanda. "She didn't want to go last weekend, but I insisted, told her that I was too busy to argue with her. I was too interested in saving my damned business. It seemed so important at the time but now." He looked down at where his wife's hand held his and added his other hand to the grip, drawing strength from the contact.  
  
"Were there any other signs that something was wrong?" Amanda asked gently.  
  
Joan Ryland, drew her attention back from her husband. "Yes," she admitted, "Mary was quite quiet for the last few weeks and she'd started getting into trouble at school. We put it down to all the tension at home. John was facing bankruptcy if we couldn't turn things around."  
  
"Better to have gone bankrupt than this," John Ryland said bitterly. He felt an overwhelming guilt that he had pushed his daughter away in the last few weeks of her life and would never get the chance to make it up to her. It was part of what had driven him into such a frenzy when he had spotted Steve at the hospital, taking his own guilt out on the person he thought had caused his daughter's death.  
  
Joan Ryland put her other hand supportively on his arm. "We thought she was better for being out of the house, the atmosphere was always so tense."  
  
Mark had heard enough to know that the Ryland's did not have the answers they sought. Prolonging this discussion would only cause them further distress, something they clearly did not need. "I'm sure that you were trying to do what was best for her." he said, beginning to stand. "Look, thank you, you've been very helpful at what is a difficult time."  
  
"Is that all," Joan said, slightly surprised that they did not want to ask more questions.  
  
"Yes," Mark replied, as Amanda followed his lead.  
  
Joan Ryland stood, her husband did not move apart from to let go of her hand. "I'll show you out," she said.  
  
Mark paused at the front door, there were a couple of things he still needed to ask but hadn't wanted to say them in front of Mr. Ryland. "There's just one thing. Is there anyone at school who Mary might have confided in? Anyone she might have told if there was something wrong?"  
  
"Her best friend was a girl called Samantha Nairn. They were inseparable." Joan said only realising the connotations of the word after it had left her lips.  
  
Mark watched as the woman in front of him once more tried to get used to the idea of talking about her daughter in the past tense. It was something that was going to take a very long time. He knew that he had intruded on her grief for long enough but the doctor in him wouldn't allow him to leave without asking one last question.  
  
"Forgive me for asking, but has your husband seen a doctor."  
  
Joan Ryland shook her head. "He refuses to, says he doesn't need one."  
  
Mark looked at her and took a card out of his pocket, "Try to persuade him, if you call this number they'll give you a referral straight away."  
  
Joan Ryland looked down at the card. "I'll try, thanks."  
  
--  
  
"We get all of the exciting jobs," Jesse said as he tried to feed the microfiche sheet into the machine. The sling on his injured arm made the task extremely awkward. "and since these records are only a few years old why haven't they been transferred to a computer database somewhere." He pointed at the aging reader, "This is hardly state of the art technology."  
  
Steve shook his head. "Computer files are still too easy to corrupt, besides it could be worse, we could be trying to search through boxes and filing cabinets, at least this way we get to sit down."  
  
Jesse nodded. "I guess, but these things give me a headache."  
  
Steve placed the list of files that had been destroyed by the fire at the records office on the desk between them and began scanning for the correct reference code. It was ten minutes before either of them found anything. It was Steve who let out a gasp.  
  
"Find something," Jesse asked unnecessarily.  
  
"Oh, yes," Steve said, barely containing the anger in his voice as he analysed the information he had just read, his mind rapidly putting the pieces together. No wonder someone had tried to erase these files. Jesse moved over to read over his shoulder and let out a long slow breath. The two men looked at each other, no need for words the implications were in front of them. "OK, I guess now we know what we're looking for." Steve said.  
  
Jesse nodded and returned to his screen with renewed enthusiasm.  
  
--  
  
Byron watched with some satisfaction as everyone left the house. It was just what he had been waiting for. Still, he was extremely cautious in his approach, the police guard had gone with Steve but that did not mean that there would not be regular patrols past the house.  
  
He went in through Steve's apartment. Picking locks was a skill he had acquired at an early age but he rarely used it, he did not care for subtlety, preferring to announce his presence when he did something, but he was intelligent enough to know how to use it when it was needed and he was determined to enjoy this particular job. Peter had been so right when he said the Sloan's deserved to pay. He was only just beginning to realise what he had lost when Steve had killed Robert, possibly the only person that he had ever been genuinely close to, or cared anything about, inasmuch as he could care about anyone. The incident at the clinic had been his little brother's initiation into what was going to be the family business and now he was gone, leaving him with only pathetic wimps like Peter for company.  
  
He was careful not to leave any trace that he had been there as he moved cautiously through the house, he had had plenty of time to plan this and this time nothing would go wrong.  
  
It took him around half an hour to complete his work and plant the materials he had brought with him. He took one last look around to ensure that he hadn't left any traces of his activities before leaving the house, a satisfied smile on his face.  
  
--  
  
Steve pulled up in the cab outside the news station. He had dismissed the police guard, given what he had found out the young officer's presence wasn't making him feel any safer. He had managed to persuade Jesse to finish checking through the files and printing off the information they would need, but his own growing anger and sense of betrayal, made it increasingly difficult for him to concentrate. He had needed to get out and do something, so had decided to come and confirm his suspicions, although there was a part of him that just wanted to deny that the whole thing was possible.  
  
He made his way into the building and over to the reception desk, where a young woman barely glanced up at him. "Can I help you?"  
  
"Yes, I'd like to see a reporter named Kate McHale."  
  
"Is she expecting you?"  
  
"No, but I'm sure she would want to talk to me, my name is Steve Sloan, Lieutenant Steve Sloan."  
  
The young woman recognised the name instantly, it had after all featured in their lead story for most of the week. She cursed herself for not looking at the man more closely. Now that she did, she recognised him, she had seen his picture often enough. The bored tone was dropped. She gestured to some chairs off to one side. "Please take a seat, I'm sure she'll be right down."  
  
Less than a minute later a pretty young woman almost ran into the room, stopping at the reception desk where she was pointed in Steve's direction. She headed over to where he was sitting plastering a bright smile on her face. She held out her hand as he stood. "Lt. Sloan," she said slightly breathlessly. "I have to say I'm surprised, but honoured to see you here. I've been trying to get to talk to you all week." Her mind was working rapidly, if she could get an exclusive interview with Steve Sloan it could make her career.  
  
"I need your help," Steve said, without preamble and not giving the reporter a chance to ask him any questions. "You broke the story about my presence in the clinic and about the breach of procedure."  
  
"Yes," she replied, curiously.  
  
"I need to know who gave you the information?"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't help you. I never reveal my sources."  
  
"Oh, but it would be in your best interests to do so on this occasion. I promise you there is a much bigger story here and if you help me I'll make sure you get an exclusive on it." At that moment Steve felt like he was making deals with the devil. This woman had after all helped to start the rumours that had almost got him killed, and had caused him and his father untold anguish, and yet he knew she was just a pawn in a much bigger game."  
  
The reporter thought about his offer. "OK," she replied, "I'll tell you."  
  
--  
  
It had taken a great deal of persuasion but Mark and Amanda finally sat in the school guidance counselor's office opposite Samantha Nairn. The counselor sat to one side of her. Samantha's mother had given permission for them to talk to her daughter as long as the counselor was there with them.  
  
Mark had started gently, asking her what she thought about school and how was she enjoying being in the seventh grade. He had then steered in to ask her about her friends before finally, once he felt he had the young girl's trust, getting round to asking the questions he really wanted answered.  
  
"I understand Mary Ryland was one of your friends?" He asked.  
  
Samantha nodded. "She was my best friend," she replied quietly.  
  
"You know that we're here because we're trying to find out, why this happened to her."  
  
The young girl nodded again, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.  
  
"Mary was at the doctor's on Saturday night, do you know if she had been feeling ill?" Mark asked.  
  
Samantha shifted in her chair, "No," she replied.  
  
"But there was something wrong?"  
  
Samantha thought about it for a few moments, she looked up at Mark. "She made me promise not to tell."  
  
"I'm sure that given the circumstances, she wouldn't mind," Mark said softly, "I think she'd want people to know what happened."  
  
Samantha thought again, the three adults waited patiently for her to speak. When she did her voice was barely audible. She looked down at the floor again. "She didn't tell me everything but I know she was afraid, she didn't want to go to her uncle's house. She said he was... he was.." She tried hard to put her friend's confidence into words but found that she couldn't. "She didn't want to tell her parents, she said they had too many problems. I told her she had to tell someone." She looked at the counselor and then back at Mark. "She said that she would. I think she was going to tell her aunt Jennifer." She was looking more and more distressed as she spoke. Again her eyes went to the counselor and back to Mark again. "I told her she should tell someone." She repeated, needing reassurance that she had done the right thing.  
  
"It's all right," the counselor said reassuringly.  
  
Samantha looked at her. "But it's not. She's dead," she stated as the tears began to fall.  
  
Mark was shocked by what he had just heard but realised that he was not surprised, a part of his mind had already considered this as a possibility after his conversation with the Ryland's. His instincts had told him that Mary Ryland was at the root of the massacre and, if what Samantha had just implied were true, than it would give David Thorson the motive to kill both her and his wife if she had threatened to expose him. He was certainly now their prime suspect, but how had he managed to get Dr. Evans and so many others to assist him in the set up and the cover up that followed? Mark knew that they still needed more information.  
  
They spent a few more minutes talking to Samantha, reassuring her before they left her in the capable hands of the guidance counselor. Once they were back in Amanda's car, Mark dialed Steve's cell phone but it was turned off so he tried Jesse's instead.  
  
"Hi Jess, did you find out anything?" Mark asked when his young friend answered.  
  
"Plenty," Jesse said, "I think we know how this whole thing was set up and who is involved, we just don't have the why."  
  
"Well I think we can supply that," Mark glanced across at Amanda as he spoke. "Where's Steve?"  
  
"He's down at the police station and that's where I'm headed now." Jesse replied.  
  
"We'll meet you there then." Mark said hitting the disconnect. He had been about to ask lots of questions but the fact that Steve had gone to the station threw him. He turned to Amanda and told her of their change in destination.  
  
--  
  
Detective Jason Walters walked into the locker room and headed straight for his locker. It had been a long day and all he wanted was to get cleaned up and head home. He opened the door not really paying any attention to anyone else in the room but, as he emptied something out of his top pocket, he suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. He looked past the locker door and saw that there was someone leaning against the wall staring at him. It took a moment for him to recognise Steve Sloan but as he did so an icy chill gripped his spine. He pushed his locker door closed and forced an air of joviality.  
  
"Hey Steve," he said, smiling, "I didn't know you were back, didn't think they'd let you out of the hospital yet." He took a step forward.  
  
Steve did not reply he just continued to stare, his face an impassive mask.  
  
Jason took another step forwards forcing his tone to remain light. "So, is this just a visit or are you back with us?" He asked. Still Steve did not reply. "Hey what's the matter buddy? Cat got your tongue?"  
  
Steve shifted as Jason came slightly closer. "Why?" he said, his voice tight, "Just tell me why?"  
  
"Why, what," Jason asked, forcing himself to continue acting, despite the way Steve was behaving towards him. The only logical conclusion was that Steve knew about him, but he didn't want to believe that so he kept up the pretense. "I don't understand, what do you want to know?"  
  
Steve pushed himself off the wall, he could no longer reign in the emotions completely and the hostility bristled from him. "You're a good detective, you have..you had a good career. Why get involved."  
  
Jason turned away as he attempted to control his own facial expression. Sloan knew all right but how much? He tried to continue the denial. "Get involved in what? I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
It was Steve's turn to step closer. "You fed me to the press Saturday night, told them I was there, told them I'd broken with procedure, told them I was responsible for the shootings starting You even told them what I said that night before I collapsed." Steve said, his voice bitter with betrayal. "And then you filed a false report about it." He paused letting the accusation hang for a few moments before continuing. "You also knew that Robert Hughes had a half brother called Byron Cooper, you arrested them together and spent best part of a month investigating before the charges were dropped. In fact a lot of the cases you file get dropped, particularly if you file them with two particular prosecutors, although one of them is an assistant DA now. I know, I've been checking. You do know that your percentage for cases not making it to court is twice the average." He paused again, Jason still had his back to him. "So do you want to know what I think you've been doing? I think you've been conspiring to let cases that should go to court drop. In short I think you're on the take and that what happened Saturday involved one of your fellow conspirators so you helped set me up to take the fall. So go on deny it."  
  
Still Jason did not turn to face him, did not move, did not speak.  
  
Steve stepped forward again, grabbing Jason's shoulder and forcing him round to face him. "I said, deny it." His voice carried the anger and betrayal that he felt. One look at Jason's face was all he needed, the guilt clearly written across it. Steve stepped back the anger draining from him to be replaced by repulsion. "Why?" He asked again quietly, "Just tell me why."  
  
If anyone else had asked him he might have tried to continue the denial and hope that they couldn't find enough proof that he had done anything wrong, after all the beauty of the setup had been that all those involved could cover for each other, but Steve Sloan had been a friend of his, and he was thoroughly ashamed of himself for what he had done in the last week. Horrified at what had happened at the clinic, he had realised that he was too involved not to take part in the cover up and had justified it to himself by rationalising that he could not do anything to bring back the people who were already dead. If he'd known about it beforehand he would have done something to stop it, but he hadn't.  
  
When he'd first got involved it had all been low key petty stuff, usually the rich or those with professions where they couldn't afford to have a criminal record, paying to have the charges dropped. To avoid further investigations, the officers involved would file them with the prosecutor who would tell them which pieces of evidence or statements to lose. They would than be dropped because of insufficient evidence to proceed.  
  
All of this information poured out as Jason attempted to justify his own actions, explaining that he was already too involved to get out by the time they started to offer the service to thugs like Byron Cooper and his brother.  
  
Steve listened and tried to contain his emotions, scarcely able to believe that someone he had worked with and trusted could be capable of what he was confessing to.  
  
"It was only three or four times a year, mostly petty stuff," Jason tried again to justify what he had done. "I never wanted to get involved in anything bigger. This whole business with the clinic has been a nightmare for me."  
  
It was all Steve could do to avoid hitting him for that last comment. "My heart bleeds for you," he said sarcastically. Suddenly feeling sick, the need for some fresh air became overwhelming. He began to walk towards the door.  
  
"Wait," Jason called after him. "What now?"  
  
Steve didn't turn round he just pulled open his shirt and ripped off the wire he had been wearing. He dropped it to the floor by the entrance to the locker room. "I imagine IA will be in touch." he said and left the room.  
  
--  
  
There was very little conversation in Amanda's car as she drove them all back to the beach house. Lieutenant Stiles had played them the recording of Jason Walter's confession, and Jesse had given them the files to read on all of the cases that Sandra Gray and David Thorson had dropped, including a case against Dr. Michael Evans. Mark and Amanda had found it most difficult to report on their findings but had passed on the information that they had discovered. By the time they left the station warrants had been issued for the arrest of David Thorson, Sandra Gray, Jason Walters and several other officers who seemed to have been implicated.  
  
--  
  
The following morning was bright and sunny with a light breeze blowing off the ocean, so Amanda set the breakfast things out on the deck. Despite the fact that they appeared to have finally solved the case, the mood of the previous evening had been subdued as the more disturbing aspects of what they had discovered sank in, and Amanda was determined to brighten the mood a little. They were expecting Nathan to arrive with news on the previous evenings' interrogations and so no one was surprised when the doorbell went at around nine o'clock.  
  
They were surprised, however, when Amanda returned with Captain Newman in tow. "Detective Turner has gone to initiate two more arrests based on what we discovered last night," he explained as he took the offered seat. "So I said I'd come out and fill you all in. David Thorson still hasn't cracked but we've got enough from the others involved, none of whom are too happy about his getting them involved in murder, to nail him." He turned to look at Mark. "You were right, he set the whole massacre in the clinic up so that he could have his wife and niece killed without anyone looking in his direction for a motive. As far as we can tell, and this mainly comes from Ms Gray, apparently David Thorson confided in her once the whole scheme went awry, her part was in trying to engineer damage limitation. Anyway, the niece told her aunt about the abuse but she was reluctant to believe it. She made the appointment with Dr. Evans and told him that if he found any physical evidence to back up the girl's claims then she would expose her husband, unfortunately she didn't know of their previous dealings with each other. Thorson had dropped quite a serious drugs charge on him in exchange for a share in the profits from the newly opened clinic. When Evan's told Thorson about his wife he got in touch with some other old acquaintances and, well you know what happened after that."  
  
"So everyone who was involved in the original bribery scheme was forced to help in the cover up or be exposed." Jesse stated.  
  
Newman nodded, "But once we had detective Walters' statement the whole thing fell apart like a house of cards. It's now the turn of the DA's office and the LAPD to try to run some sort of damage limitation but there could be literally hundreds of cases going back years which need reinvestigating. The Mayor's office are setting up a task force." He shifted in his chair. "Which brings me to my other reason for coming out here this morning. I'm afraid that this was rather forgotten in the turmoil of the last few days." He looked across at Steve. "You were officially reinstated two days ago so I wanted to bring these back to you personally." He removed Steve's badge and gun from his pocket and pushed them across the table to him.  
  
Since his talk with Jesse on the beach Steve had been focussed on other things and hadn't really had time to sit back and analyse how he was handling his feelings about what had happened in the clinic. The whole of the previous day he had been focused on bringing the people responsible to justice, he'd spent very little time on considering his own feelings. Had he wanted a powerful reminder that he had not yet recovered from the emotional trauma of those events, he could not have been given a stronger one than the one that had now been pushed across the table to him.  
  
The sight of his own gun that he had last held in his hand in the clinic was a shock, looking at it brought back images of pain and death, feelings of helplessness and hopelessness as he had tried to lift it to stop the gunman and failed. It took all his self control not to throw up, as the myriad of emotions assaulted his senses. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. "Excuse me," he said, "there's something I need to get."  
  
Once he was inside the house he took several deep breaths to calm himself, the strength of his own reaction to an inanimate object surprised him and he knew he still had a way to go before he could consider himself recovered. It had however, confirmed his resolve to do something that he had decided days earlier. He went to the desk and retrieved the letter that was waiting there. If he couldn't even look at a gun then he would be no good as a police officer. He looked down at the letter of resignation and considered it one last time. It was the right thing to do. He headed back for the deck.  
  
He emerged through the door intending to hand the letter straight to his Captain, but he never got the chance, at that moment the interior of the house exploded behind him. The last thing he saw was the shards of debris flying out across the deck as the shockwave from the blast picked him and everything else in it's path up and tossed them forward. 


	26. Rollercoaster part 1

Part 26 Rollercoaster (part 1)  
  
As the dust settled there was an eerie silence and stillness, nothing moved.  
  
The handful of people on the beach stood transfixed, as their brains tried to process the input from their senses. Disbelief and shock set in as they came to terms with what they had witnessed.  
  
It was a full minute before the reaction began. The silence was shattered as shouts went up, and some people began running forward to see if they could help. Others stood, still too shocked to do anything. They had all seen the figure that was thrown over the guardrail and dropped to the sand below, and knew that there were others on the deck. Those with cell phones stopped to use them to call for help.  
  
--  
  
The first thing Mark was aware of was the weight on his chest, he had difficulty breathing and there was a painful ringing in his ears. He forced his eyes open and realised that he was under the heavy wooden table. He tried unsuccessfully to move it as a sharp pain reminded him of his recently broken arm, it was doubtful that he could have lifted it given the awkward position, but with only one good arm the attempt was futile. He looked around, desperately trying to see what had happened to the others, he could just make out Amanda's prone form a few feet away.  
  
The sight brought a painful flash of memory, of being trapped with Amanda in the ruins of Community General, also in the aftermath of an explosion. He hadn't known on that occasion what had happened to his son and Jesse, beyond that they had been with them before the blast and were possibly trapped and injured too. He had had to concentrate his efforts on keeping himself and Amanda alive.  
  
As the memory abated, an uncharacteristic panic gripped him, as he felt history repeating itself. That time they had all been incredibly lucky, could that luck possibly hold? He looked across to Amanda, she still wasn't moving, he tried to shift his position to see if he could see Steve and Jesse but again the weight and position of the table defeated him. He called out their names, the desperation showing in his tone but there was no answer. It would have been difficult for him to hear anyway above his own pounding heartbeat and the lingering ringing from the explosion's blast. He pushed uselessly at the table again, tears of frustration forming in his eyes.  
  
--  
  
Steve lay perfectly still, he didn't want to move, didn't want to breath. The explosion had knocked all of the breath from him and left his mind in a fuzzy haze, but he knew that as long as he didn't move, as long as he stayed perfectly still then he wouldn't feel the pain. He wrapped himself in a cocoon of denial that would shatter with any movement, pain receptors would fire, new injuries to already battered muscles would be confirmed.  
  
He heard the muffled shouts and ignored them, took only shallow breaths in an effort to stay the inevitable, but then he heard a familiar voice touched with an unfamiliar panic, his father calling first his name and then for Jesse and Amanda.  
  
Of course! They had all been there. They had all been caught in the explosion. Self protection gave way to anxiety. Gripped by a powerful need to find out what had happened to his friends, to find and reassure his father, Steve forced his eyes open, forgetting his resolve to remain still, he tried to roll over and sit up at the same time. His whole world exploded in a white sheet of pain.  
  
--  
  
Two surfers were the first to reach the house, their young legs allowing them to outpace the other would be rescuers. One of them moved to the prone form lying on the sand the other headed for the stairs to the deck.  
  
"I can't make it up, the stairs are covered in broken glass," the young man said regretfully looking down at his unshod feet. He jumped down the three steps that he'd managed to negotiate before realising his efforts would be hopeless, and headed for his friend.  
  
The blond haired young man, not unlike Jesse in appearance knelt in the sand next to Jesse's unconscious form. "He's alive," he said, taking his hand from the pulse point in his neck. He adjusted his gaze to look at the rail that Jesse had been tossed over. "But I don't want to move him, there may be back or neck injuries."  
  
His friend nodded and turned to greet the others who were arriving. "There's shattered glass everywhere," he announced, "So be careful."  
  
--  
  
Mark struck the table with the flat of his hand in frustration as his latest effort, putting every ounce of strength that he could into pushing, yielded no movement, he simply did not have the position. He turned to look again at Amanda, who lay with her face away from him and he noticed a slight movement.  
  
"Amanda," he said hopefully.  
  
Yes, there was definitely movement. She shifted position and slightly shakily forced herself up onto her hands turning as she did so.  
  
Soft brown eyes met his. "Mark?" She asked, a look of dazed confusion on her face.  
  
"Thank God," Mark said, relieved that she seemed only dazed but needing more information about the others, "Steve, Jesse, can you see them? Are they all right?" he asked urgently.  
  
Mark's tone cut through her fuzzy senses. She turned her head to scan the surroundings reporting what she saw. "I can see Steve and he's moving." He was a good ten feet from her and she couldn't tell the extent of any injuries he may have, but was encouraged by the movement, that at least indicated that he was alive. She might have tried to go over to help him, or to see if she could help lift the table from Mark, but for the fact that she could not see Jesse, he didn't appear to be on the deck with them any longer. "Captain Newman's over there," she said pointing, "But I can't see Jesse," she added anxiously scanning around again.  
  
The relief that Mark felt at Amanda's pronouncement that Steve was at least alive was quickly tempered by concern for his young friend. He automatically searched around again despite the fact that he had already scanned his limited field of view many times and knew that there was nothing there.  
  
Amanda pushed herself to a kneeling position, needing to stand if she was going to help the others or find Jesse, but a wave of dizziness stopped her, and she had to put her hand out to stop herself from falling forwards.  
  
At that moment she felt a strong pair of hands on her shoulders supporting her. "Take it easy," an unfamiliar voice said. She turned to see the concerned face of a young man dressed in a sweat suit, gratefully she accepted his help.  
  
Mark felt the weight lift from his chest, before he saw his rescuers. He took a moment to reorient himself, relieved as the pressure was removed. He was helped to a sitting position, checking as he moved for any new injuries beyond the jarring of his break and the bruising he could already feel. He turned to thank those who had helped him, all the while anxiously scanning for Steve and Jesse, he had just caught sight of his son when his train of thought was interrupted.  
  
"Oh God! Jesse," Amanda exclaimed sharply, looking over the edge of the twisted guardrail to the beach below.  
  
Mark caught the alarm in her tone and looked up, even in his dazed state the implications of her exclamation coupled with the direction of her gaze were obvious, Jesse had been thrown to the sand below. Mark felt the knot of anxiety tighten in his abdomen. He stared up at his friend.  
  
Instinctively Amanda met his gaze and a wealth of silent communication passed between them. "I'll go," she said nodding in Jesse's direction. "Can you.." she turned to look at the others on the deck.  
  
She didn't need to finish the sentence, Mark nodded, "I'll check on Steve," he said, turning to scan the deck and for the first time noticing the other figure lying on the floor. In the confusion he had forgotten about the police Captain who had come to talk to them. "And Captain Newman," he added a little belatedly.  
  
He reached out his hands to those with him to help him to his feet. Everything seemed to ache, every movement brought a new twinge of pain, but his thoughts and emotions were on others not himself, and he ignored the discomfort.  
  
Amanda watched just long enough to see that Mark was indeed all right before she turned her concern to Jesse, moving as quickly as she dared on the slightly shaky decking, to get to the beach below and her injured friend.  
  
Mark focussed his attention on the two others on the deck. Every instinct he had as a father screamed at him to go to Steve, to check on his son, but every instinct he had as a doctor was telling him to go and assess Captain Newman's condition first. He was unconscious and unmoving, whereas Steve was trying hard to sit up. He took a deep breath and swallowed. He had to deal with that which could be life threatening first. He had no choice, looking regretfully in Steve's direction, mirroring an action he had been forced to only a week ago, he turned from his son to temporarily focus on another. It was the right thing to do but that did not mean it came without an emotional cost  
  
"Can I help, Doc?"  
  
Mark turned to see Tony, one of those who regularly set up his rods on the section of beach in front of the house, he knew him well enough to chat to. He glanced across to Steve. "Please help Steve, I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
The younger man nodded and moved off.  
  
Mark did his best to repress his emotions, forcing himself to focus on the unconscious figure in front of him. Newman had taken the brunt of the explosion, he had been sitting with his back to the glass doors when they had exploded outwards. As a result his back was covered in lacerations, there was blood everywhere. Mark felt for a pulse. He really needed his medical bag that was in the house. He was about to ask the young man next to him to go inside for it when the reality of the situation struck him.  
  
He looked up and for the first time it registered that the interior of his house, his home, had been destroyed.  
  
--  
  
Byron lowered the binoculars. "Perfect," he said grinning. He offered the glasses to Peter to look through, wanting his companion to admire his handiwork.  
  
Peter dutifully took them and scanned the wreckage of the beachhouse, the thin plume of smoke still rose from it into the morning sky. He was slightly surprised to see that both of the Sloan men, father and son, still seemed to be not only alive but moving around. He lowered the glasses and looked at his friend a confused expression on his face. "I don't understand, I thought you wanted him to pay for what he did. I thought you were going to kill him."  
  
Byron's grin broadened, he took the glasses back. "Oh yes, but this is just phase one. You don't think I've been doing all of this preparation just so that I can blow him up do you?" He held Peter's gaze for a moment before looking back through the binoculars, the question clearly rhetorical. "Sloan killed my brother, the only family I had, and shot me. He's going to suffer for that." Despite the smile on his face there was a cold venom in his tone. "I'll destroy everything that he holds dear. I'll destroy his family first." He grinned at his companion again, "and then I'll kill him slowly, so that he feels every twist of the knife."  
  
Peter tried not to turn away from the gaze that held him, but the glint of insanity in Byron's eyes was almost too much for him. This was all a game to him, he took pleasure out of the suffering of others. He enjoyed holding the power of life and death in his hands but more than that, he got his kicks from tormenting those he was going to kill. Peter had seen it before on a much smaller scale and it always repulsed him to the point of being physically sick, frequently, he'd had to escape from Byron's sight so he could do just that. Now he felt the bile rising again as he contemplated what his companion was doing, what he was helping to do. He glanced back at the destroyed home, the injured people. How did he ever become a part of this?  
  
"Come on," Byron said reluctantly, "Let's get out of here before the police arrive."  
  
--  
  
Steve had finally managed to ease himself to a sitting position and focus on the world around him sufficiently to take in his surroundings. He looked across and caught his father just as he looked into the house, caught the almost imperceptible double take as the shock of what had happened registered and had to fight the impulse to got to him, the pain of moving rashly still all too real. He watched the pain of loss register on his father's features, watched as he struggled to regain his detachment and could no longer fight the desire to go to his side.  
  
Painfully and with the help of others he made it to his feet, from this position he could see Amanda kneeling on the sand next to Jesse's still unmoving form, saw the shattered remains of his home, saw his father kneeling next to the bleeding form of his superior, a man he respected and admired, and felt the warm trickle of blood on his forehead as it ran down his eyebrow, forcing him to blink, as it momentarily obscured his vision. He heard the wail of approaching sirens and somewhere in a small corner of his mind he registered the glint of sunlight on binoculars, odd that someone on the beach would be watching. It was his last coherent thought as the images and emotions fragmented in a kaleidoscope of mental colour, as his brain tried, and failed, to process the overwhelming information.  
  
--  
  
Jesse was first aware of a dull buzzing sound which slowly morphed itself into the recognisable tones of a hushed conversation. He forced his eyes open and looked around, realising instantly that he was lying in one of the beds in Community General and, judging from the decor, it was on the newly decorated third floor. He must have made a slight sound because the conversation stopped and all eyes turned to look at him.  
  
"Hey didn't I get out of here?" he asked slightly croakily.  
  
Smiles broke out on Mark and Amanda's faces as they acknowledged their friend's return to consciousness. They shifted position from where they had been talking to Steve so that they could get a good view of both beds.  
  
"I know what you mean," Steve replied, "Nurse Johnson suggested that they put revolving doors on the ER so that we could get in and out more easily."  
  
Jesse smiled across at his friend, but it quickly turned to a grimace as he tried to move. He drew in a deep breath.  
  
Mark moved a little closer, concerned. "How are you feeling?" He asked.  
  
"Like I've been hit by a truck." Jesse replied, moving more gingerly to face his friends. "So what happened?"  
  
"As far as they can tell it was a gas explosion," Mark replied, "You were thrown clean off the deck onto the beach."  
  
Jesse's eyes widened at the information, he looked round at the others, the last thing he remembered was them all together on the deck. "We were all there?" He asked, receiving nods in reply. "Are you guys all right?"  
  
"Some bruising and contusions," Amanda said, "We were lucky that we were all on the deck when it happened. Mark's had to have a new cast and you burst the stitches in your arm but thankfully there were no major injuries. Captain Newman took the worst of it but he's going to be fine."  
  
"You landed on one of the dunes and the soft sand broke your fall." Mark added eyeing him critically, "Dr. Taylor wants to keep you and Steve in at least overnight for observation."  
  
Jesse leant his head back and allowed the information to sink in, relieved that they had all come through this latest setback relatively unscathed. His demeanor changed as his thoughts moved to exactly what had blown up. He looked in alarm at Mark and Steve. "Oh my God the Beach house!"  
  
They both recognised the reaction, having had a little longer to come to terms with the fact that their home had been destroyed. They had been discussing it when Jesse awoke.  
  
Mark looked sadly at Jesse. "Most of the interior has been destroyed, at least upstairs," he said letting out a small sigh. "they won't be able to assess the structural damage until at least tomorrow, then we'll know if the place can be repaired or not."  
  
There was a moments silence as the four friends considered the fact that they might lose the beach house completely. Both Jesse and Amanda knew how much their friends loved their home and they all had memories of many happy hours spent there.  
  
It was Mark who was first to break the melancholy. "Hey it's only bricks and mortar. If the worst comes to the worst then we can rebuild it." He pointed at the walls of the hospital. "They rebuilt this place." He looked round the group. "I'm just grateful that all of us are going to be all right."  
  
--  
  
Mark sat next to Steve, it was late and Jesse was already asleep.  
  
"So do you think they'll let me out of here again tomorrow?" Steve asked.  
  
The normality of the question made Mark smile, despite everything that had happened to them in the past week, the most frightening thought, apart from the fact that Steve might be killed, had been that Steve would never recover mentally, would never again be the man that he loved and respected, not that anything could ever diminish the love that he felt, but knowing that he was less than he was, would have eaten at Mark's heart every day.  
  
So every sign that Steve was returning to his old self was welcomed, Mark knew that it would take a long time for the mental scars to heal but the indications were that he would get there. Steve was a fighter, had always been strong in the face of danger, and he certainly seemed now to be gaining strength through adversity, and there was more than enough of that around at the moment.  
  
Mark moved to the end of the bed and checked Steve's chart. "As long as nothing changes between now and the morning, I don't see why not." He put the chart back down and returned to his seat. "Except I think you'd be better staying in here. You need plenty of rest."  
  
"But dad." Steve began to protest.  
  
"It's just that," Mark interrupted but his speech was uncharacteristically subdued. He looked his son in the eye. "You don't really have anywhere else to go at the moment."  
  
Steve returned the gaze, it hadn't really occurred to him when he asked the question. They had spoken at length about the loss of the beach house that afternoon but somehow it still hadn't sunk in that their home was no longer there. Each time he was reminded of it, it was like repeating the shock of realising it for the first time. "I. well.. I. a hotel," he continued somewhat flustered.  
  
Mark recognised the confusion, was still having difficulty himself coming to terms with the reality of losing their home. "And would that really be so much better than here?" He asked gently.  
  
Steve shook his head, "I guess not."  
  
"Look I'm staying at Amanda's tonight but she hasn't got the room for any more especially not with her mother staying over." Mark looked over at Jesse's bed. "I suppose the two of you could go over and stay at Jess's place but that would mean one of you sleeping on the couch and neither of you is fit enough for that." He looked back at his son. "I'll do my best to find us all somewhere tomorrow but until I do.."  
  
"It would make things easier for you if Jess and I stay here." Steve completed for him.  
  
Mark nodded, wrinkling his nose in a characteristic expression of regret, "Sorry."  
  
"Hey that's OK, I'm sure Jess and I can stand this place a little longer. Except you might want to bring Jess some food in. I may have to cause him further bodily harm if I have to listen to him complain about the hospital meals again."  
  
Mark grinned, "Deal."  
  
The two men lapsed into silence for several minutes as their thoughts turned once again to the events of the morning, and their home. The conversation earlier had covered what had happened to it, what they each remembered seeing before the ambulances had taken them away and speculation about how it had happened. Now their thoughts turned to how they remembered it. As though they shared some sort of empathic link they each began reminiscing about the time they had shared together there. Steve was the first to verbalise the thoughts. "Do you remember that time you caught me sneaking out down the drainpipe, when the bracket broke lose.."  
  
"And you were hanging out from the wall kicking your legs and shouting for help."  
  
Steve nodded. "You grounded me for a month."  
  
"Well you could have hurt yourself. Not to mention the damage you did to the drain."  
  
The two men sat and shared their memories for the next hour until Amanda came to pick Mark up to take him back to her place, each gaining comfort and strength from the other and the memories they shared. The explosion may have destroyed some of their possessions but it could not destroy their memories and the bond that it gave them.  
  
--  
  
The next morning Mark was up early but patiently waited for Amanda to see to her boys and get them to school. They were both quite excited, not only was their mom home but uncle Mark was staying too. Mark couldn't help but feel his spirits lift in the face of such youthful enthusiasm, as they both 'helped' serve him breakfast, Amanda laughed at the huge pile of pancakes they put on his plate.  
  
Once she returned from dropping them off, her next task was to drive Mark out to the beach house so that he could meet with the structural engineer who was coming to decide whether the house could be saved or not. He was also hoping for the chance to get inside to see if he could salvage some of his and Steve's things.  
  
They were just about to leave when the phone went, Amanda answered it but quickly passed it to Mark. He recognised the voice of Barry Keel, one of his oldest friends. He too had been a doctor and then a surgeon but had made his fortune with the invention of a tiny device to assist in keyhole surgery and had ended up running his own multi million dollar business supplying surgical instruments. Mark was surprised but pleased to hear from him.  
  
"Hi Mark, they told me at the hospital I might catch you there."  
  
"Barry, it's a long time since we've talked, what can I do for you?"  
  
"Well, I've been reading about you and Steve in the papers, terrible business, I've been meaning to call you all week but you know how it is." There was a slight pause. "Anyway in light of what happened yesterday it occurred to me that I could be of some practical help. With your home out of commission I thought that you could use somewhere to stay and you could probably do with escaping all of the attention from the media, so I'm calling to offer you the use of my home up along the coast. It's close to the sea, set in fifty acres of coastal land and its only a few kilometers from the local town. You get all the advantages of peace and seclusion whilst not being too far from civilisation."  
  
"Well that's a very generous offer but I don't think I can.."  
  
"Mark," Barry interrupted sharply, "Mark," the tone became cajoling. "Trust me you'll love it and it will be just what Steve needs. It would do you both the power of good and the place is just sitting empty at the moment. I'm not going to get a chance to use it for at least a month. Please tell me that you'll use it."  
  
"Well I."  
  
"Please, I never did get around to getting you a birthday present and I really want to help, let me do this for you."  
  
Mark thought about it, the idea of peace and quiet, coastal views and fresh sea air was certainly tempting. It did sound like the perfect place for himself, Steve and Jesse to recuperate from the traumas of the last week. "All right, that's very kind of you."  
  
"Good, good, I'll get someone to drop the keys and directions off for you. Where's the best place?"  
  
"Well, I've got to go back to the hospital later this morning so if you could have them sent there for me."  
  
"Excellent, that's settled then and if there is anything else you want just let me know."  
  
--  
  
Mark stood on the decking, which had been sured up with scaffolding so that the bomb squad and fire investigators could work, and shook the engineer's hand before he left. Amanda had been waiting patiently but could no longer contain her curiosity about what had been said.  
  
As she approached Mark let out a heavy sigh and smiled. "Structurally sound," he said the relief showing in his voice. "this front wall will need some work and the interior needs completely remodeling but the rest of the house is fine." He paused and looked towards the interior. "He said it was all right for us to go in if we were careful. So would you care to join me whilst I see what I can salvage."  
  
The request sounded casual but Amanda knew that he needed her support. "Lead the way," she said gesturing forwards.  
  
They spent the next two hours salvaging what they could from the kitchen and the living room area. The bedrooms and most of Steve's apartment had escaped relatively unscathed apart from decorations and plaster that had been shaken to the floor and it was clear that the main kitchen had been the epicentre of the explosion.  
  
Mark had managed to control his emotions remarkably well, had he been faced with such devastation under normal circumstances then he may have found it more difficult to deal with, but compared to the other traumas that he had recently faced, this seemed like only a minor tragedy.  
  
Amanda caught herself watching him. Every so often a small pause staring at something, or a slight hesitation before picking up an item, would provide a window to how painful this all must be for him, but he did not let anything delay him for long. Pressing on with the task of retrieving what they could, his priority was getting back to Steve, trying to maintain the momentum of his recovery, and becoming melancholy over the loss of their home was not going to help with that.  
  
Mark checked his watch, he had promised Steve and Jesse that he would be at the hospital before lunch, reluctantly he broke off his salvage efforts, heading first for his room and then Steve's to pack clothes for their trip. Amanda repacked all of Jesse's things from the guest bedroom, loading everything into the back of her car before they headed off for the hospital to give Steve and Jesse the good news about their new home from home.  
  
Mark and Amanda had discussed it and decided that all four of them would head up there, as soon as they were ready. She would drive as she was still the only one with two good arms, although Steve had considerably more movement in his now. Amanda's mom would come up at the weekend and join them, bringing CJ and Dion with her.  
  
--  
  
It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at the house. Amanda had hired a people carrier for the duration, to make it more comfortable for her injured passengers and to facilitate moving around when her children joined them. Mark had insisted, since they were about fifteen miles from the nearest hospital, that they bring a vast array of medical supplies with them, 'just in case' and Jesse had joked that they were better equipped than some ambulances he had seen, but Mark had ignored him. He was still slightly worried for both Steve and Jesse that there may be complications from the injuries they had sustained and he wasn't willing to take any chances.  
  
Having settled their belongings in their rooms, they went to explore their new surroundings, marveling at the spectacular views and slightly surprised by the variety of terrain, from coastal cliffs to heavily wooded areas, There was even a path down to a small sandy beach situated in a rocky cove.  
  
Steve and Jesse were both glad to be back out of the hospital and, although they didn't walk too far, neither of them wanted to risk a lecture about taking it easy from either Mark or Amanda, they were grateful for the chance to gently stretch aching muscles.  
  
Amanda returned to the house first to fix dinner, leaving the others to take in the view for a little longer.  
  
When they set off back Mark led the way, with Steve and Jesse following, without realising it he went a little too quickly and had to stop to let the younger men catch up.  
  
"You know Jess," Steve said, causing his friend to turn and look at him. "You know you're in a bad way when your old man can easily outpace you."  
  
"Hey less on the old," Mark said grinning and promptly proceeded to do his famous impersonation of an old man, stumbling on ahead of them, complete with bent back and imaginary cane. "I'll have you young whippersnappers know, that I can beat you any day of the week over any terrain," and he promptly did an imaginary trip over his own feet, stumbling forward before regaining his balance. "Dang, who put that root there."  
  
Jesse and Steve both laughed at his antics, it was impossible not to, as Mark exhibited one of the many qualities that he was admired for, the ability to make people smile in even the most difficult of circumstances.  
  
"Dad, be careful," Steve admonished gently, "Or don't you think we've got enough injuries between us yet."  
  
Mark grinned back at him a mischievous twinkle in his eye, the sight and sound of his son and his best friend laughing was more than he could have hoped for at most points during the last week. Coupled with the prospect of a few days relaxing in such beautiful surroundings and the knowledge that they had finally brought to justice those responsible for what had happened in the clinic, even if they hadn't managed to get the guy who had actually pulled the trigger, made Mark feel wonderful and he thanked the heavens that things were finally back on track for them all.  
  
--  
  
Byron lowered the binoculars, "That's right Lt. Sloan, make the most of what little time you have left together." He muttered to himself before moving back to the Jeep and climbing in. "Everything's set," he stated for Peter's benefit. "Now all we have to do is wait."  
  
--  
  
Nathan frowned and stared at the report on his desk. It was nearly midnight and he was exhausted, everyone was pulling extra shifts to cover for all those suspended in the corruption scandal. He had been out on two separate homicides that evening and so was only just getting a chance to see what had been left for him. He looked at his watch and really wished that he'd made it back earlier.  
  
The report was on the explosion at the Sloan's home, traces of a small incendiary device, most likely with a remote detonator, had been found amongst the wreckage. The explosion had been no accident. He contemplated calling them to let them know, after all, this indicated that they could be in danger of further attacks, but the lateness of the hour dissuaded him. It was something that would wait until morning. After all only he, Amanda's mom and Barry Keel, who had lent them the property, knew where they were. Steve was a good enough cop to have noticed anyone following them, even if he wasn't specifically looking for it, so they were likely to be safe for the time being.  
  
Nathan looked at his watch again, he was due back on shift again at nine, time to call it a night. He yawned as he stood and hooked the jacket off the back of his chair. Switching the desk lamp off he closed the file and left it sitting on his desk ready for morning.  
  
--  
  
The evening had been as relaxed as the arrival for the four friends and they had enjoyed sharing reminiscences before retiring early, after an exhausting but, given the circumstances, extremely pleasant day.  
  
As a consequence they were all up bright and early the next morning.  
  
"I'm sorry," Amanda said, guiltily, as they all sat down for breakfast, "I guess I just missed the bag with the milk in it. I know that I brought some before we left."  
  
"Don't worry about it," Mark said. "I'm sure we can all manage with black coffee."  
  
"I'll go to the store as soon as we've finished breakfast," she said, still sounding apologetic. "There are some other things we need too."  
  
"And I'll go with you," Steve interjected, "I could do with finding something to read."  
  
--  
  
Byron watched as Steve and Amanda headed for the people carrier. He couldn't believe his luck, he had thought that he would have to wait much longer for the group to be separated for a sufficient length of time for him to put his plans into action, but if they were taking the vehicle, then the only place they could be headed was the nearby town which, driving at the speed limit took twenty eight minutes to get to. That meant that they would be gone for more than an hour. Plenty of time for him to do what he had to do.  
  
He waited for the vehicle to disappear out of sight before signaling to Peter to join him.  
  
--  
  
Jesse stood at the sink whistling, taking his time to do the washing up, using his injured arm only minimally. Mark would have stayed to help but was little use, given that he needed to keep his fresh cast dry. He had been extremely grateful that the bone was healing sufficiently well, that they had replaced the full arm cast with one that reached only to the elbow and he had offered to cover it with a plastic bag and help, but Jesse had insisted that he would be all right alone.  
  
He placed the latest plate onto the drying rack and went to pick up another, when he felt something cold on his neck. A strong hand grabbed hold of his hair and jerked it back and he froze in fear as an icy voice whispered in his ear. "Move, and this knife slicing into your throat will be the last thing you ever feel. Understand?"  
  
Jesse tried to speak but his voice refused to cooperate. He concentrated hard on trying to make a response as the cold steel pressed harder against his throat. "Yes," he managed to croak out, as a blind terror gripped him. There was something about the tone of voice, something about the pressure on his throat that told him this was no idle threat.  
  
He wasn't aware that he'd managed to pick up another plate, so he was shocked by the crack and splash as it dropped from nerveless fingers into the bowl. He felt the knife nick his skin as he flinched and felt the warm blood begin to trickle down his collar.  
  
The crash brought Mark at the run to see what was wrong. Byron turned himself and Jesse easily to face Mark's entrance.  
  
Mark's eyes widened as he took in the scene. He recognised the face of the man he had until now, only seen in mug shots, Byron Cooper held a knife to Jesse's throat and gripped his hair in the other hand. Mark looked into Jesse's terror stricken eyes.  
  
Despite his predicament Jesse tried to shout out a warning to Mark, getting a painful wrenching on his hair for his trouble, sharp, stabbing pains radiated out from his recent head wound.  
  
Mark opened his mouth to speak, hoping against hope that he could reason with this man who held his friend, but knowing deep down that it was already a lost cause, given the many atrocities he had already committed. He did not get the chance to find out, as Peter stepped up behind him and delivered a sharp blow to the back of his neck, causing him to crumple unconscious to the floor.  
  
Jesse watched horrified. "No," he managed to shout out, and if Byron hadn't had such a tight grip on his hair, he would probably have moved enough to cause himself serious injury from the knife at his throat.  
  
"Keep quiet," Byron said, his tone still low and icy, "and do what I say or I'll use this knife on both of you."  
  
At the reiteration of the threat Jesse managed to calm himself a little. Byron felt him relax and loosened the grip slightly. "That's better, now let's get on with this."  
  
--  
  
Nathan hadn't made it to his desk, he had been called to a homicide on his way in, and drove straight to the large sprawling mansion. He was greeted by a young uniformed officer, who looked relieved to see him.  
  
"What have you got?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Male Caucasian early sixties was found this morning by his housekeeper. She's in there and she's very distressed. Says he gave the staff a few days off unexpectedly yesterday morning, claimed he had to fly out of town on business, but it looks like he never left. Apparently he was with two younger men whom she'd never seen before who claimed to be business associates. He was supposed to leave with them. She wasn't supposed to come back until tomorrow but she'd forgotten to pack an outfit that she particularly wanted to wear, so she came to pick it up and found him."  
  
Nathan rubbed his eyes, he was still tired. "Do we have a name on the victim?"  
  
The young officer looked a little embarrassed having left out so basic a detail. "Oh yes, his name is Keel, a Dr. Barry Keel."  
  
Nathan felt like he'd had a bucket of icy water thrown over him. He turned sharply, "Get someone else out here to cover this," he said, taking out his cell phone to make a call, he just hoped that he wasn't too late, and, leaving a bemused young officer behind him, he headed out of the door.  
  
--  
  
Jesse had been tied up and gagged first, so all he could do was watch with an increasing sense of dread as Mark was dragged into the centre of the living room and the carpet and furnishings were drenched in petrol.  
  
They had just about finished when the phone began to ring. Byron moved and ripped the cord from the wall, before surveying his handiwork.  
  
"OK, I think we're about ready to make that call," he said. He looked at his watch, perfect. Steve and Amanda would just have reached the town, given the winding roads it would take them at least twenty minutes to get back if not more, taking out his cell phone, he hit the speed dial.  
  
Steve answered his phone on the second ring. "Hello Sloan here."  
  
"Just wanted you to know that you'll be too late to save your father but you might yet save your friend Jesse."  
  
Steve couldn't quite comprehend what had just been said, a chill ran down his spine as part of him acknowledged the threat. "I'm sorry what did you say?"  
  
Byron smiled at the confused tone. "Your father," he paused, emphasising each word when he continued. "You're too far away. You won't get back in time to save him, but if you hurry and you follow the clues you might just save your friend Jesse."  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
"Why Lieutenant don't you recognise the voice, and I thought it would be one you would never forget. I thought it would be the last voice you ever heard."  
  
Steve's thoughts almost imploded as he realised that he was speaking to the gunman from the clinic. Only the threat to his father and his friend, prevented him from being completely overwhelmed. "If you hurt my father." he began.  
  
"I've already told you it's too late, but you're welcome to try to stop me." Byron interrupted. "I'll be waiting for you," he said and hit the disconnect on the phone.  
  
Jesse watched in horrified fascination as Byron dropped a match onto the floor, a blue and yellow pool of flame instantly spread from where it hit. As he was dragged from the house his last view was of Mark through the flames.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED... 


	27. Rollercoaster part 2

Part 27 Rollercoaster (Part 2)  
  
As the line went dead, Steve's mind went into overdrive, once again a myriad of emotions assaulted his senses. Just hearing the voice of the man who had begun this week of sleeping and waking nightmares sent icy shivers down his spine. When it was coupled with a threat to his father and Jesse's life, from the man who already had the status of a childhood monster in Steve's psyche, the fear and dread spiraled to almost overwhelming proportions.  
  
"Steve! Steve! What is it? who was that?" Amanda's anxious tone pulled his focus back to the world. She had only heard his side of the conversation but even if she had heard nothing, the change in his demeanour, the way his whole body stiffened, and the almost tangible wave of emotion that now emanated from him, was enough to tell her that something was very, very wrong.  
  
"Stop the car!" Steve commanded, his voice and expression brooked no argument and Amanda did as she was told but asked again. "What is it? What's wrong?"  
  
"I need to drive," he said, unclipping his seatbelt and opening the door before the car had come to a complete stop. He jumped out and ran round to the driver's side, whilst Amanda, who realised that, whatever it was, it required some urgency, did the same.  
  
Steve got in, waited until Amanda had clipped her seatbelt into place and then floored the accelerator before he replied. He had taken over the driving because he knew that time was of the essence and whilst Amanda was an excellent driver, he had been trained in police pursuit and may just be able to squeeze a little extra speed down the more treacherous stretches of road, but he had mainly taken it over because he needed something to do, needed to feel that he was taking direct action. He could not have sat passively as a passenger whilst his father's life and that of his best friend were in danger.  
  
"The call was from Byron Cooper," Steve said, trying hard to keep his rising panic from showing in his voice. "He said that he's going to kill dad and Jesse."  
  
There was a slight exclamation from Amanda as she took in this news.  
  
Steve tried his hardest to keep his emotions under control as he told her the rest of it. "He said.. he said I would be too late to save dad, I was too far away." he swallowed. "But I might be able to save Jesse."  
  
Amanda now understood the panic and the urgency. She looked at Steve and tried to think of words of comfort that she could offer him but realised that the best she could do was to offer a silent prayer that Byron was wrong and that they would not be too late. She gripped the handle on the door as the car slewed around another bend.  
  
--  
  
Jesse did his best to put up a fight as they dragged him from the burning building but with his hands tied behind his back all he managed was a painful fall, landing heavily, with no way to cushion the impact. Byron and Peter hauled him unceremoniously to his feet and continued to drag him forwards.  
  
The pain from his injured arm and the recently replaced stitches had started as a dull ache when his arm was pulled behind his back and tied. Now that he was being dragged along by it, the ache had turned into a fire, and he had to concentrate to think of anything else.  
  
After the initial struggle, he allowed himself to be pulled along, keeping up because it was less painful that way, but as they moved further from the house, he had chance to consider what he was being made to do. They were leaving Mark to die in a burning building and taking him, if he had correctly interpreted what he had heard, to bait a trap for Steve. They would almost certainly kill him as soon as they didn't need him any more. He couldn't let that happen, he couldn't just leave Mark to his fate without at least attempting to do something, however little chance he had of success, nor could he just allow himself to be passively dragged away to his death.  
  
With a sudden determination, and a strength and speed borne of desperation, he stopped and threw his weight backwards, writhing as he did so out of Peter and Byron's grip, then he turned on his heels and ran.  
  
Shocked by the sudden action it took a moment for either man to respond, then both set off running after their escaped prisoner. Byron reached him first going into a viscious flying tackle to bring Jesse down.  
  
Jesse hit the floor on his injured arm and, this time, he felt the tear as the stitches were once more ripped apart. The fire turned to molten lava as an intense heat wave of pain swept up from his shoulder. His vision blurred and he felt himself rolling. When his mind cleared enough for him to focus, he was looking into Byron's slightly manic face. He was pinned to the ground as Byron straddled his chest, the knife once more pressed against his throat.  
  
"Now," Byron said, leaning down, still panting slightly from the exertion. He stopped only inches away from Jesse's face. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I don't mind stopping every few yards for more of this if you won't cooperate, but I'm guessing that you will. Struggling is not going to bring back Dr. Sloan, nor is it going to help you or your friend Steve." He paused, leaning in slightly closer. "It will only cause you pain."  
  
There was something about the way Byron delivered that last sentence and the threat it encompassed that was literally terrifying. Jesse cowered from the words in a way that he never would from physical blows. He looked into Byron's eyes and saw what Peter always saw, a terrifying insanity.  
  
"So what do you say, will you cooperate?" Byron asked. When Jesse did not reply immediately Byron moved his knee and pressed his full weight onto Jesse's arm.  
  
Jesse gasped and almost blacked out from the pain, his whole body writhed in the sand as he attempted to escape from it.  
  
"I said are you going to cooperate?" Byron asked again, more sharply  
  
Jesse just managed a nod, Byron smiled and slipped his knife back into the sheath on his waist before removing his weight and standing up.  
  
As the pressure was released Jesse rolled onto his good side breathing heavily in an attempt to control the pain. He felt strong hands grab him from either side and haul him once more to his feet, where he found himself staring at the burning house, the flames already licking at the windows. A wave of utter despair swept over him. He had no chance of escaping from the clutches of this madman. Steve was still more than twenty minutes away and conditions inside the burning building were already at the point where it would be difficult to survive the smoke inhalation, by the time Steve arrived, Mark would be.. Jesse tried hard to repress the image.  
  
After finding his father Steve would be in no state to help anyone, but Jesse knew that he would try and then he would be killed too. Jesse swallowed hard as he considered the deaths of the two men he considered to be family, knowing that he could do nothing about it.  
  
His shoulders sagged as the fight drained from him, the sheer hopelessness of his position robbed him of all but the most passive of responses, once more he followed the direction he was pulled.  
  
Byron watched with satisfaction as Jesse's spirit sagged, that would make things easier in the short term, but he hoped he hadn't seen the last of Jesse's fight, since it made the game so much more interesting. He allowed Peter to take the lead for the time being. He had one last thing to do.  
  
He took out the remote detonator from his pocket and pressed the switch. The towers he was blowing up were too far away for him to even hear the explosions, so he took out his cell phone and watched with satisfaction as the signal strength died. With the microwave towers down, no one in the local area would be able to use a cell phone to summon help.  
  
--  
  
Nathan, almost threw his cell phone to the floor in frustration. He had had no luck getting through to the Sloans on either the landline to the house, which had rung briefly before the line went dead, or Steve's cell phone which was engaged when he first tried it and then was switched off or out of the area where it could receive a signal. So he had concentrated his efforts on attempting to get first someone from the local sheriff's department to go out to the house and check it, and then to get a helicopter so that he could get up there himself.  
  
The sheriff's department had responded with 'all our officers are busy at the moment but we'll get someone to run over there and check everything's all right as soon as we can.' In Nathan's opinion they had failed to understand the potential urgency of the situation and although he had attempted to explain in as much detail as he could why he thought Steve and Mark were in danger, he had had to admit that he had no direct evidence. Once he realised that he was not going to get anywhere, he had hung up frustrated and attempted his second objective, to get up there himself by helicopter. Again he met with failure. With Captain Newman still in the hospital he was left to talk to the acting Captain for his division, who did not seem to want to acknowledge the danger the Sloans were in. He argued that he was not going to spend taxpayer's money on a wild goose chase to protect people who had willingly left their jurisdiction. Frustrated once more, Nathan had ended the conversation before he said something he regretted. As he looked at the cell phone, attempting to avoid the temptation to destroy it, he considered the fact that the acting Captain had been close friends with a couple of the people suspended in the corruption investigation that Steve and Mark had helped to uncover, and that probably explained his unwillingness to help them now.  
  
He was just about to head out to his car and go out to the hospital to see if Captain Newman was well enough to pull some strings, when a better idea occurred to him, as he remembered a story Steve had once told him about solving a murder in the middle of a forest fire that had swept through Malibu. He took out his cell phone again.  
  
--  
  
Steve's knuckles were white, his grip on the steering wheel a testament to the taughtness of every sinew and muscle in his body.  
  
His mind was working on two levels, thoughts and actions seemed separated. Finely honed skills, drilled into him over many hours of police training and actual pursuits, allowed him to drive whilst his mind attempted to deal with the imagination and the reality of his fears.  
  
He threw the heavy vehicle around another bend, sliding the rear tyres and just managing to pull it back into line before it left the tarmaced surface.  
  
'You'll be too late to save your father,' the voice repeated in his head.  
  
No, he refused to believe it. His father was still alive, he had to be.  
  
The images of the bloody corpses from the clinic, drifted into his mind, he shook his head to clear it but they refused to go. He closed his eyes briefly but the images only grew sharper. He opened them and tried to focus on the treeline ahead.  
  
'The shooting would have stopped if it hadn't been for you,' the voice of earlier nightmares echoed, 'you'll be too late to save your father,' the new nightmare repeated.  
  
The images of the bloody corpses reappeared only this time as he looked, he realised that one of them was Mark. The car skidded across the road as the powerful emotions that the image invoked, broke the barrier between automatic skills and distressed thoughts.  
  
"Steve!" Amanda shouted in concern.  
  
The alarmed tone snapped him back to reality, the grizzly image dissolving as he pulled the vehicle back from near disaster. He swallowed, attempting to calm himself, relieved that it was only a trick of his imagination but unable to shake the feelings of dread. What if they were too late?  
  
"Steve," Amanda said softly, relaxing a little as she realised his brief loss of control was over.  
  
He turned to look at her and briefly their gazes locked, each seeing the concern in the other. Steve forced his attention back to the road. "He said I'd be too late to save him," he said, unable to disguise the defeat that was already there. Whilst a part of him fought, another part of him had already given up, such was the power of negativity, brought on by Byron's involvement. Steve had failed once to stop this madman, was still trying to come to terms with the consequences, his belief in himself had almost been destroyed and he had had no opportunity to rebuild it.  
  
"Steve," Amanda said, understanding the fear. She felt it herself, but she refused to give up hope. "He's got to be wrong."  
  
In the last couple of minutes she had had time to consider their predicament. Checking her watch she realised that it had been half an hour since they had left for the town, which should have put them just about in the town centre. If Byron was at the house with Mark and Jesse and had told Steve that he was too far away, then she was betting that he knew how long ago they had left, had been watching them, and had guessed where they were going, but he didn't know that they had never made it to the town.  
  
It was Amanda who had first realised that she had not brought her purse and had apologised, profusely for forgetting it, embarrassed that she had forgotten two things in as many days.  
  
"Hey don't worry about it," Steve had said, sympathetically. "This last week has been a bit rough on all of us, it's bound to take it's toll, besides I have plenty of money in my wallet," he began to feel around in his pockets before letting out a low sigh. "Which is sitting on the dresser next to my bed back at the house," he finally completed.  
  
Amanda had let out a small laugh. "What a pair, we are," she said before, doing a neat U-turn ready to head back. "Thank goodness we realised before we got to the checkouts in the store. That's really embarrassing. I did it a couple of times when I was pregnant with CJ, they say pregnancy affects your memory, it certainly did mine."  
  
"Not an excuse I've used," Steve said smiling back, "Although I may try it next time it happens to me."  
  
Amanda had laughed at that.  
  
That had happened only about fifteen minutes ago but the bright airy mood now seemed like a lifetime away. They had been about twenty minutes into the journey so they were already more than halfway back by the time Steve received the phone call. Amanda tried to point this out to him, he clearly needed the encouragement.  
  
"Look, whatever he said, he would have expected us to be in town by the time he called us. We weren't, we were much closer than that. Whatever he's done to Mark and Jesse he won't be expecting us to get there yet and we're nearly there." She paused to allow her assertions to sink in. "We will get there in time." She stated, wanting desperately to believe it.  
  
--  
  
As they headed over the crest of the hill, Byron took one last view of the burning house and smiled before it disappeared from view. He looked at his watch, another fifteen minutes before Sloan got back, there would be little left of the timber framed house by then. He only wished he could have hung around to see Sloan's face but he had other preparations to make.  
  
Jesse was walking with his head down and his shoulders slumped, beads of perspiration covered his face as his body attempted to deal with the latest traumas, blood dried on his collar and the front of his shirt, where it had run when the knife nicked his throat. Blood had also soaked through the bandage on his arm and now showed through the sleeve of his shirt. His mind was numb, for the moment there was no thought, no emotion, even the pain barely registered, as he followed where he was led.  
  
Byron headed for the wooded area, leaving Peter to guide Jesse. He was careful to leave plenty of signs of their passage. It would not do for Sloan to go the wrong way, that would spoil the game.  
  
--  
  
Steve and Amanda both gasped as he threw the car around the last bend and caught sight of the house, unable to deny any longer what they had known for the last half mile when they had first seen the wispy, rising plume of smoke, and had begun hoping against hope that they were wrong.  
  
Steve floored the accelerator one last time to cover the last few hundred yards or so to the house, throwing the car into a handbrake turn as they reached it and slamming on the brakes at the same time so the vehicle slid to a juddering halt. He began to take his seatbelt off.  
  
Amanda looked at the burning building. "Steve!" She pleaded, "You can't go in there."  
  
She did not want to lose Mark but, from the look of the flames on the side of the building, they were almost certainly too late. If Mark was gone that would be difficult enough to bear, without losing Steve too ,in a futile rescue attempt. If Steve had been fully fit then she might have held out a little hope but he was nowhere near that state. Going into the burning building in his condition was suicidal.  
  
Steve locked her gaze for a second, utter determination in his features. "Dad's in there," was all he said, before pulling his arm free from her grip and climbing out.  
  
She let her hand fall to the seat and watched, knowing that there was nothing she could do or say that would stop him, she followed him.  
  
He took out his handkerchief and tied it loosely around his mouth and nose for what little protection it would offer from the noxious fumes, he didn't have time for any other preparations.  
  
"Be ready for us when I bring him out," he said resolutely.  
  
Amanda watched as he headed to the door, already slightly ajar, and kicked it open. She could see the flames licking around the frame. He ducked and plunged inside, as she saw him disappear, she felt like someone had reached into her gut and twisted her insides into a giant knot. She shook her head, she couldn't lose them, not both of them, not like this.  
  
She stared for a moment but could only see smoke and flames, deciding that she could not stand around doing nothing, she turned back to the car to find Steve's cell phone and call for help, cursing herself that she had not thought of it earlier, but there was no signal. Disgusted, she threw the phone back on the seat, it looked like for the time being she was on her own. She headed for the trunk and began to sort through the medical supplies she would need if.. when Steve got Mark out of there.  
  
Steve felt the wave of oppressive heat hit him as he stepped through the door. He was used to it, had faced it several times in large and small forest fires in his capacity as a volunteer firefighter and had been exposed to it in his training, but he was usually better equipped that a cotton shirt and a handkerchief. The heat, however, was not the real problem although it sapped the energy rapidly, it was the acrid smoke and scorched air. Within a second of moving through the door his eyes were stinging and watering. His first breath into already damaged lungs made him cough violently and gasp as the shear warmth of the air caused a reaction.  
  
He dropped down as low as he could and began to search desperately for his father, having to feel his way round as much as he could, each breath more painful than the last. He knew that he did not have long before he would succumb to the smoke himself. He couldn't let that happen. He had to find his father and get him out of there.  
  
Steve fought to drag each painful breath into his lungs, fought the fatigue as the heat sapped his strength, quashed all of the emotions of defeat and helplessness as he focussed on his task. He would find his father or die trying, there was no question in his mind of anything else.  
  
It seemed like he had been searching for hours, but it had barely been a few minutes when he touched something that felt like a foot, a feeling of elation swept over him as he moved up the body and realised that it was indeed his father, he had found him. The elated feeling briefly dropped back to despair as he searched for and at first could not find a pulse, then he felt it, faint but regular and the elated feeling returned. Wasting no time he hauled himself to his feet and put every ounce of effort into lifting his father's limp body onto his shoulder.  
  
Unable to crouch low any more, he endured the fumes and heat and searched frantically for a path out, picking his way through the flames as he headed for the door that he had entered through. The entire frame was on fire, but Steve had no choice, there was no other exit. With the last of his strength he pulled acrid air into his tortured lungs and ran at the entrance. In a blur of colour, he hit a wall of intense heat, seeming to move in slow motion, as time lost meaning in what seemed like a long tunnel of fire, then he was through and out into the clean clear air. The bright light and crisp colours, in sharp contrast to the oranges and reds of the dark smoke filled house. It was like passing through a tunnel to another world.  
  
He stumbled forward a few extra paces to try to get clear of the building but the effort and exertion had cost too much. He tried to draw in air to feed abused muscle, but smoke clogged his lungs rendering his efforts useless. He dropped to his knees doing his best to lower his precious load gently to the ground. It was only at this point that he noticed that his sleeve was on fire.  
  
He stared at it curiously watching the flames, his oxygen deprived brain incapable of recognising the danger let alone taking action to remedy it.. He continued to stare as Amanda smothered it with a blanket. He dropped back to a sitting position as his lungs began to protest their treatment and he coughed violently, spasms of pain and fatigue dropped him the rest of the way onto his side. His eyes closed as he rode out the latest wave of pain. He had got his father out of the building, for the time being he could do no more.  
  
Amanda watched Steve emerge from the building, a rush of adrenaline heightening her senses. As Steve's world returned to normal speed it was her turn to feel like things were moving in slow motion. Elation was the first emotion she felt. Steve was safely out and he had Mark with him, but she did not have time to enjoy the relief. She noticed the flame on Steve's arm and her professional training kicked in. She grabbed the blanket that she had waiting, smothering the flame as quickly as she could. She knew the arm would need treating, knew that Steve would need help but in the first instance she had to focus all of her attention on Mark, turning to him she did a quick assessment before beginning CPR.  
  
"Come on Mark," she said between breaths, in the same tone she used to encourage her son's to do something. "You can't give up now."  
  
Finally, after several minutes, her efforts were rewarded with a choking cough and a stronger pulse. She sighed in relief and took a moment to take a deep breath and calm herself, as a little of the unbearable tension evaporated, but Mark was not out of danger yet. She placed an oxygen mask over his face and examined him for other injuries. She found the bruising from the blow he had received to the back of the neck and thankfully nothing else. His main problems were from the length of time he had spent inside the smoke filled building. He was dehydrated and suffering from severe smoke inhalation and there was a risk that his lungs and trachea might have been scorched from breathing in the heated air.  
  
Steve might have the same problems. She glanced over at him, he still lay on his side trying to suck air into his tortured lungs. She needed to get to him, but first she needed to finish stabilising Mark. The most immediate threat was from shock. She set up an IV to replace some of the lost fluids and bring up his blood pressure, then turned to Steve.  
  
"Steve? Can you sit up for me?" She asked.  
  
Steve tried to focus his still stinging eyes on her. "Dad?.." he managed to get out before another wave of coughs wracked his system.  
  
She supported him as well as she could until the spasm had passed and then gently placed an oxygen mask over his face. "He's fine for the time being," she reassured him gently, "You saved his life." She paused to allow her words to register. "Now let's get a look at you."  
  
Steve's breathing was easing slightly now that he was breathing the oxygen but he still coughed. As gently as she could Amanda tore away the burnt cloth from his arm so she could get a look. Thankfully, she had got to it in time and there were only first and second degree burns, it could have been much worse. Equally lucky that Steve had been wearing cotton, Amanda had seen burns where the material had melted into the wound, they were much harder to treat. She attempted to give Steve something for the pain, but he shook his head.  
  
"Not yet," he said, " I have to try to keep a clear head, that maniac is still out there."  
  
"With Jesse," Amanda agreed.  
  
At that point they both looked at each other in alarm. Jesse! What if he too had been in the building. Steve made to stand, ready to go back inside, but Amanda grabbed his arm. "If he is in there it's too late," she said, "Besides, I thought he said that it was too late for your dad but you could still save Jesse."  
  
Steve nodded.  
  
"In that case he can't have left him in there he must have taken him with him." Amanda concluded.  
  
Steve thought about it for a moment. "As bait to make me go after him," he said bitterly. He looked across at his father's pale, barely moving form. "He needn't have bothered, after this I'd be going after him anyway." A new emotion was beginning to emerge, more powerfully than any other, anger.  
  
Amanda nodded, she could certainly understand that reaction. She focussed attention back on his arm "OK this is going to hurt," she said as she prepared to clean and dress the wound.  
  
He did not flinch at the pain, instead he used it, channeled it. There were many things that he had had to feel anger about over the past week, some of them he had expressed to Dr. Carter when she had spoken to him. The attacks on the people in the clinic, their deaths, his arrest, the attacks on his father and Jesse, on his home, the betrayal by friends and colleagues and those in a system that he trusted, all had caused anger, but all of that paled into insignificance when it was compared to how he now felt. The anger from a week of trauma fed into the rage at this latest atrocity. He needed to find and confront this monster who had tried so hard to destroy everything that was important to him. He had to be stopped before he could harm anyone else, before he killed Jesse.  
  
Steve looked at Amanda and began to pull the mask off. "I have to go," he said with quiet determination.  
  
"Steve you're in no condition to." Amanda began to protest.  
  
"He's got Jesse," Steve interrupted.  
  
Amanda looked exacerbated, she could certainly understand Steve's desire to go after his friend, she felt it herself. "We can go and get help," she tried.  
  
Steve shook his head, "No, by the time we got back it could be too late. I have to do this."  
  
"But Steve it's a trap," Amanda said, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice.  
  
"I know." He paused looking into her eyes for understanding. "I have to do this," he repeated. He began to stand, nodding in his father's direction he continued, "Look after him for me."  
  
Amanda stood with him and once more looked into his eyes. He left so much unsaid and yet she understood. If he stayed with her and they went for help and anything happened to Jesse, Steve would be plagued by demons that he would never escape from. Whatever the risk physically, mentally he needed to confront Byron or forever be haunted by him. The instruction to look after his father wasn't just for now but for if anything should happen to him. Amanda admitted defeat, tears welled in her eyes as she realised she would have to let him go.  
  
"Wait then," she said and headed for the car. She opened the glove box and pulled out two items, returning to Steve she held out his badge and gun. "We all saw how you reacted to these yesterday at the beach house," Amanda said quietly, "Your dad thought if we brought them, he might be able to get you to talk about it, get it out of your system whilst we were here."  
  
Steve stood and stared momentarily at the weapon, his reaction to it had certainly been extreme, even now he could feel the connected anxiety at the prospect of touching it but the anger was a much more powerful emotion. He would need the gun. With only the slightest of pauses, just before he made contact, he reached out and took it, placing it quickly into his belt. He took his badge and gripped it in his hand before placing it in his pocket. "Thanks," he said, gently touching Amanda on the cheek. "Don't let anything happen to dad and if he wakes up tell him. tell him.."  
  
"I know what to tell him," Amanda replied softly.  
  
Steve turned and walked away.  
  
--  
  
Byron pushed Jesse into the room of the abandoned building, off balance he tried hard not to fall over but could not prevent dropping to his knees, allowing his shoulder to impact with the wall, as the only way to stop himself from going all the way to the floor.  
  
During the walk through the forest, his mind had begun to clear slightly but he was still haunted by the sight of the burning building, knowing that Mark was inside, despondency gripped him, even now he could feel nothing about his rough treatment, no anger towards those who had done this to him, to Mark, even fear was beyond him, just a frightening acceptance that he and those he loved were going to die. He lent against the wall allowing the coolness of the stone to seep through his slightly fevered skin.  
  
Byron watched, satisfied that Jesse was not going to try any form of escape he turned to Peter. "Watch him, I'm going to check that everything is set."  
  
Peter nodded, relieved that he was going to get some time alone.  
  
--  
  
Amanda watched Steve until he reached the top of the rise, at which point, like some portent of failure, an almost deafening crack followed by a rolling roar, caused her to flinch and turn towards the burning house. She watched as the roof of the building collapsed into the interior, soon there would be nothing left, only ashes.  
  
She looked back to where Steve had been, half expecting him to still be standing there, watching the destruction with her, but he had gone. With a sigh she moved to check on Mark, kneeling to take his pulse. She looked at her watch and realised to her horror, that it had been almost exactly an hour since they had left for town, half an hour since Steve had received the phone call from Byron. If they hadn't had to turn back early then they would have just been arriving at the burning building and Byron would have been right. They would have been too late, far too late.  
  
--  
  
Jesse felt the gentle touch on his arm, was surprised by it. He looked up and was even more surprised to find that the eyes that were staring into his were full of compassion, not insanity.  
  
"Drink this," Peter said, pressing a water bottle to Jesse's lips and tilting it slightly.  
  
Gratefully Jesse took a sip as his mind tried to process this unexpected kindness in his sea of despair. It brought with it a tiny spark of hope. "Please," Jesse said, staring once more into the eyes of his captor. "Help me."  
  
Peter looked nervously around, he really hated what he was being forced to do. "I can't," he stated firmly.  
  
Jesse saw the fear, realised that this man was terrified of his companion. With an astuteness Mark would have been proud of, he realised that Peter was being forced to help with this. The spark of hope had kick-started Jesse's brain, synapses began to fire, maybe there was some small chance of getting out of this. Jesse's normally optimistic personality began to fight back against the negative emotions.  
  
"Please," Jesse said, keeping the desperation in his tone. "Please," he nodded down toward his blood soaked sleeve, "My arm's numb, I need it to be around the front." He allowed a slight pause before continuing the plea, "You could tie me up again, it won't make a difference, I can't use it."  
  
Peter considered it, Jesse did not seem to be in any state to put up any more of a fight and the arm did look to be in a pretty bad way. He nodded, "OK but don't try anything."  
  
--  
  
Steve had no trouble following the trail that had been left for him and tried his best to move cautiously, knowing that he was walking into a trap, but the only thing that was keeping him on his feet was his anger and he knew it. He had to keep feeding it, allowing himself to remember the state he had left his father in, his near brush with death, the bloody corpses. Instead of the fear and anxiety that these images had until now brought with them, he acknowledged Byron as their cause. Channeled the emotions into rage and used the increased adrenaline to keep going.  
  
Such strategies, however, precluded most cautious behaviour, did not allow for subterfuge or stealth. Instead he moved forward quickly, scanning as best he could for signs of danger. He did not notice the trip wire but recognised the click as he pulled it. Knowing that it was almost certainly too late, he threw himself to the ground as the forest was filled with the deafening roar of the exploding mine.  
  
--  
  
Byron looked up, slightly shocked at the sound of the first of his traps going off. He looked at his watch. How had Sloan made it back so quickly? He turned and retraced his steps to the half collapsed cabin.  
  
He received a second shock as he entered and found Peter just finishing retying Jesse's hands in front of him. "What are you doing?" He asked with a ferocity that made both Peter and Jesse jump.  
  
Peter jumped up and backed off, guiltily. "He. his . his arm was numb. I was just. I thought.."  
  
"Well don't think," Byron snapped, " I don't keep you around to think. Just do what I tell you." He glowered at Peter before looking at Jesse, who feigned the defeated look that had been so real only minutes earlier. Byron dismissed him once more as no threat and turned his attention back to Peter. "Sloan's on his way, he just set off the first trap. Get the guns ready."  
  
--  
  
It took a few moments for Steve to realise that he had not been hurt. Slowly he lifted his head and looked up. He had seen firsthand what an anti- personnel mine could do and knew that if it had been set up properly then he should be dead. He checked himself again for further signs of injury, finding none he eased himself to a standing position and scanned the area. That was when he saw the tree that had been torn to pieces by the blast.  
  
He walked over to it. The bottom third was a mess, the bark had been shredded. Steve looked back to where the mine had been. It had been deliberately placed to face away from the person tripping the wire. It was just there to scare him.  
  
Steve muttered an expletive under his breath as his anger flared further. Someone had to stop this madman.  
  
--  
  
Peter hated this, hated being so involved. When he had just been the driver he could convince himself that he wasn't really a part of whatever Byron was doing. He was just there to drive him around from A to B. He couldn't be blamed for whatever sick acts Byron committed, but it had been getting more difficult to win the argument, even against himself. Even thinking about what had happened at the clinic made him nauseous.  
  
Today, however, he wasn't just driving. Byron had made him knock the old Dr. out. He had made him help pour petrol around the room and, even though he had tried his hardest not to spread the petrol too close to where the doctor lay, he knew that it hadn't been enough to save him. Byron had forced him to go that extra step, had forced him to become a killer and he hated himself for it.  
  
He looked across at where Jesse sat with his side leaning against the wall. He was glad he'd been able to help him, if only a little, there wasn't much he could do but Jesse's grateful smile as the bonds around his wrist had been released, had at least made him feel slightly better. He tried not to think what Byron had in store for the young doctor.  
  
--  
  
Amanda heard the helicopter before she saw it. She had spent the last few minutes making Mark as comfortable as possible. She had contemplated getting him into the car and attempting to drive him to the nearest hospital but she needed to monitor his condition, at least until his breathing and his pulse were a little more settled, and she could not do that whilst she was driving. So, reluctantly, she had decided that she would be better not moving him for the time being. If help did not arrive and Steve did not return. well she would reconsider her position later.  
  
When she heard the helicopter she was relieved, whoever it was they could not fail to spot the fire and at the very least they should report it, even if they did not stop to help.  
  
When the helicopter landed and she recognised Nathan as he climbed out, she began to cry. Tears of relief that she was no longer alone, that she could get Mark to help, that there was someone there who could go and help Steve.  
  
She did not rise from the position she was in, she waited for Nathan to come to her. She gripped Mark's hand, until this point she hadn't realised just how afraid she had been. More tears fell. "We're going to be all right Mark," she said, squeezing his hand slightly, we're going to be all right."  
  
--  
  
Steve avoided the second trap easily. Now he knew what he was looking for, long forgotten skills that had been trained into him when he was in the army resurfaced and he spotted the second mine. This was a release mine, it blew as you stepped off the switch. He would have been willing to bet that it had been rendered non- lethal, probably had the charge removed and had been placed there just to test his nerve, to see if he would step off.  
  
Steve knew when he was being played, Byron wouldn't kill him with a mine, would want to do it face to face. These traps were just a diversion. More anger to feed the flame.  
  
--  
  
Jesse watched and waited, if he did get a chance to stop whatever Byron had planned, then he would only get one chance, he needed to be ready when the opportunity presented itself. Byron's announcement that Steve was on his way had intensified both his feelings of hope and of fear, but he knew that Steve would need his help. So he did his best to focus, spending his time observing, waiting.  
  
--  
  
Steve reached the abandoned building, avoiding the third trap, a viscious looking snare, designed to inflict pain. He could just about see movement through the dusty windows, through patches that had been wiped clean. There were no subtleties to his approach, he did not have the emotional control for that. He needed to confront Byron, the rage that was keeping him going dictated that he must, the ever present images of what this man had done to his father compelled him to take action.  
  
He stepped out into the clearing in front of the cabin. "OK, I'm here," he announced, loud enough for those inside to hear.  
  
Jesse recognised his friend's voice instantly .  
  
"I'm alone and unarmed," Steve shouted.  
  
Steve's confidence, shocked Byron. He had thought that the destruction of his home, the death of his father and the possible loss of his best friend would leave Steve more disconcerted. He took the shotgun he was holding and moved to the door.  
  
"Come in Lieutenant, we've been expecting you."  
  
As Steve caught sight of Byron, the rush of emotions almost made him turn tail and run. They had been in this position before, Steve staring down the barrel of a gun in Byron's hand, a week ago, just before his whole world had exploded into a nightmare of pain, fear and distress. It took every ounce of will power that he possessed not to crumble at the sight. The force of new and remembered emotion, slamming into him, robbing him of his resolve. He took a deep breath, concentrated on his anger and took a step forward.  
  
That first step towards his nemesis was one of the most difficult Steve could ever remember taking, as he ordered now shaking limbs to respond.  
  
Byron backed up allowing Steve to come into the large room that formed most of the inside of the cabin. Steve's eyes swept the interior, the only furniture was a single table and two chairs, behind them, leaning against the far wall, was Jesse. Steve noticed with distress the blood on the front of his shirt and his sleeve and his slumped, defeated posture.  
  
He turned to face Byron trying hard to resist the impulse to just attempt to take him in a flying tackle, consequences be damned.  
  
"Frisk him," Byron instructed Peter. He kept the shotgun trained on Steve's chest.  
  
Peter tucked his own gun into his belt and quickly patted Steve down. "He's clean," he said, stepping away and retrieving his weapon.  
  
"I'm surprised at you Lieutenant," Byron said, staring him in the eye. "I thought I would have to come looking for you, didn't think you'd have the guts to walk in here."  
  
Steve ignored the comment. "I came to get you to let Jesse go," he said. "It's me you want, not him."  
  
"Ah but you see that's where you're wrong." Byron shook his head with feigned regret, "You killed my brother. He was the only family I had and you killed him." Venom dripped from his tone. "You don't have a brother." He pointed across at Jesse, "But you do have someone who's as close." He paused briefly, looking Steve directly in the eye. "So you see, he has to die." Byron directed his instructions back to Peter. "Get him up."  
  
Steve watched as Peter obediently moved towards his friend, before turning his attention back to Byron. "You don't have to do this," he stated, attempting to buy time, watching for any opportunity.  
  
Byron kept his gun trained steadily on him, watching, waiting for him to make his move, the man had more strength of character than he had given him credit for. "Ah but I do, you see, I enjoy it." He paused, "I enjoy killing, it gives me a buzz."  
  
"Is that why you killed all of those people in the clinic?" Steve asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  
  
"Yes," Byron stated, no hint of emotion or regret.  
  
"Tell me I'm curious," Steve asked, still desperately searching for a way to get to Byron. "How many of them were you intending to kill to get to the girl."  
  
Byron smiled and shrugged. "I don't know, it was Robert's first time out, he might have killed all of them, he was, after all, pretending to be crazy, I was just there for back up."  
  
Steve shook his head, "You're sick."  
  
"I know," Byron said smiling, "I'm also bored." He turned to look at Peter, nodding in Jesse's direction. "Kill him," he instructed, keeping the order, short, direct and callous so that it would have the maximum impact on Steve. He was not disappointed.  
  
The shock registered on Steve's face, his time had run out, he had to do something to prevent Jesse from being killed. He made to move forward but Byron jerked his gun forward slightly, the meaning of the motion clear, move and I fire. Steve was too far away to do any good, dead he could not help anyone. He stood still and looked over to Peter, he needed to do something, he couldn't just watch him kill Jesse, his mind searched frantically for options.  
  
Peter had helped Jesse, who now stood leaning against the wall, to his feet and then had stepped back, keeping his gun trained on him. He turned to stare at Byron, not sure that he had heard the instruction correctly. Byron stared back and from the cold look in his eye Peter knew that he had not misheard. He expected him to kill the young doctor, shoot him in cold blood  
  
Jesse watched Peter's reactions, knowing that his life hung in the balance but one look into Peter's eyes told him that he would not do it.  
  
"I said kill him," Byron repeated.  
  
Peter looked back at Jesse, then towards Byron then back at Jesse again, he could not do it. He was at his limit, he would not kill, not like this. He had finally reached breaking point and could not cope with one more order from this man who terrorised him.  
  
"Kill him, what are you waiting for?" Byron said his tone menacing, the volume of his voice rising. "Pull the trigger."  
  
Peter finally snapped, he turned the gun towards Byron, "No," he yelled.  
  
Byron was quicker, the shotgun already turned in Peter's direction, he pulled the trigger, Jesse dove to one side, out of the way, as a deafening roar filled the room. Peter flew backwards as the blast took him full in the chest.  
  
Steve saw his chance, he pulled the gun from it's hiding place, tucked into his belt in the small of his back. He leveled it at Byron, as he in turn pointed the shotgun towards Jesse, intent on finishing what he had started.  
  
The first bullet from Steve's gun found it's mark and Byron turned towards him, surprise and anger in his expression. He swept the shotgun round, pulling the trigger as he went, as Steve fired again. Once more the room was filled with a deafening blast.  
  
Jesse lay on the floor as the roaring in his ears slowly began to die down, he could not feel any new pain, only the jarring of already present injuries.  
  
Click. click ...click.  
  
It took a few moments to register that he was all right, that whatever it was, it was over.  
  
Click.. click.  
  
He rolled over and sat up allowing his eyes to slowly refocus. The first thing he saw was Steve and it almost made his heart break. Then he spotted the other bodies and knew that before he could help his friend, he would have to check for signs of life.  
  
He stood and went to check first on Peter, whose open staring eyes and bloodied chest negated the need to do anything further. Then he checked on Byron, there was no pulse.  
  
He pushed himself back to standing, walked slowly towards Steve, wary of sudden movement, very gently he rested his hand on his friend's. "It's OK, Steve you can stop now," he said, as though he was talking to a child.  
  
Steve's finger continued to squeeze the trigger of the long empty gun, but at Jesse's touch it slowed. His eyes were fixed and staring at the point where Byron had stood, Jesse moved into his gaze.  
  
"Steve, it's over, you can stop," Jesse said, his tone soft but firm. He tightened his grip so that Steve could no longer pull on the trigger, the rhythmic clicking finally stopped.  
  
As though stopping the action, broke him out of some sort of trance, Steve looked down into his friend's eyes. The anger that had kept him going had evaporated the first time he had pulled the trigger, the first bullet had hit Byron through the heart and he had been dead from that moment, it had just taken a little time to register, the second shot from the shotgun had fired harmlessly into the air.  
  
At that point the thought implosion, that had threatened since Steve had first heard Byron's voice that morning, had been triggered and Steve's thought processes had temporarily shut down. Only now as he stared at Jesse did it register that he was still alive, they all were. "What.. How.."  
  
Jesse was relieved at the spark of life he saw in Steve's eyes, he had been afraid that they had lost him again. "It's OK, they're both dead," he stated, watching Steve's face for signs of comprehension.  
  
Steve moved his head to look around Jesse to where Byron's body lay. It was over.  
  
Jesse watched with concern as Steve swayed on his feet. Dehydration and delayed shock from the many ravages his system had faced, finally took their toll. Moving to support his friend, although needing it almost as much himself, Jesse hooked his arm under Steve's shoulder.  
  
"Come on let's get out of here," he said.  
  
The two of them walked out into the sunshine. Steve did not look back as he left his demons behind him.  
  
The End.  
  
--  
  
Author's note:- There- that's the story finally finished, I think I've tied up all the loose ends. Hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to hear your opinion of it. A million thankyous to all of those people who have been helpful and encouraging whilst I've been writing it, either through e-mail or reviews. I do appreciate every bit of your support, and it does make the many hours spent trying to get each chapter right worthwhile. A big thankyou to Nonny and Mouse for all that they have done to help me and to Antonio and Mel for letting me talk through ideas with them. Really hoped you enjoyed it Judith.  
  
Ps I will write an epilogue at some point I think this story needs it. 


	28. Epilogue

Author's note:- OK sorry for the delay but life has, as usual, been a little hectic. I also could not resist putting in a little more drama before I put this story finally to bed but don't worry the epilogue is here too. So this is the final installment. Hope you enjoy- Judith  
  
--  
  
Part 28 Last Gasp  
  
Jesse did his best to support Steve as they moved away from the dilapidated building but it was clear that he was becoming weaker with every step. His breathing was slightly raspy and when he began to cough, the force of the convulsions almost dragged both men down. Jesse looked around for a suitable place for them to rest whilst he got a closer look at his friend and steered them towards the shade of a large oak tree.  
  
Now that Jesse was out of danger and Byron was no longer a threat, the powerful mix of adrenaline and endorphins, that had allowed Steve to continue to function, dissipated. The desperation and the rage left him and he could feel the energy draining away. Jesse was safe, Byron was dead. He didn't need to keep going any more. Couldn't keep going any more.  
  
Tortured muscles, clogged lungs and damaged pain receptors all vied for attention in a cacophony of feeling. When the coughing began it was all he could do not to collapse and take Jesse down with him. As he felt his friend push him back up, he did his best to cooperate, to help as much as he could through the haze of pain. He focussed what little strength he had on making it to the tree that Jesse was clearly heading for. His knees gave as he reached it and he collapsed to the ground, drained completely physically and emotionally by the trials of the last hour, even the few steps across the clearing had cost him. As he hit the ground another coughing spasm hit and white explosions of pain filled his world once more.  
  
Jesse tried to get Steve to a more comfortable position, but had to wait until the latest bout of coughing subsided. For the first time he was able to look properly at his friend. His clothes and face were covered in black marks and his shirt was ripped. New grazes covered his arms and one sleeve bore the signs of being burned away. Charred edges hung limply down and underneath there was a recently applied dressing which was also ripped and covered in dirt. His face was creased with lines of pain, and Jesse wished he were back at the hospital where he could give him something to help ease it.  
  
The implications of Steve's appearance was not lost on him, he had clearly been in a fire, was injured, suffering from smoke inhalation and that could only mean that he had tried to rescue Mark. Once again Jesse experienced a mixture of hope and fear as he realised that he might have been successful, Mark may still be alive. For a moment his thoughts reverted to the last view of his old friend through the flames and the fear overwhelmed the hope, surely it had been too late?  
  
He was shaken from the memory as Steve coughed again, he repressed his concerns for one friend, whatever had happened there he was powerless to help, for the moment he had to focus on the friend that he could.  
  
"OK Steve I want you to take it easy for me pal," he said, beginning a slow and soothing monologue, keeping his voice reassuring as he tried to get Steve to bring his breathing under control.  
  
Steve was drifting on the edge of consciousness, his system gradually shutting down, but Jesse's calm and level tone pulled him back, and he tried hard to do as his friend was asking, taking deeper slower breaths.  
  
As Jesse spoke he continued to check for other injuries. As gently as he could he removed the ripped bandage and winced at what he found. The skin had been burnt and blistered along the length of his forearm, then he had clearly fallen on it and the already damaged skin had ripped along with the bandage, to make matters worse the cut was full of dirt. The risk of infection was very high and the fluid loss from the injury was adding to Steve's general dehydration and, no doubt, rapidly dropping blood pressure.  
  
Jesse realised that whilst Byron himself was dead, the legacy of his actions might still claim another life. Steve's system was too weak to take another bout of shock. He had pushed himself to his limit and beyond and now he was paying the price. Jesse looked around as his mind rapidly considered options.  
  
He carefully rested Steve's injured arm across his chest, grateful that his breathing seemed to be easing slightly. "Steve," he said calmly, clearly, easily masking his own rising panic as he considered how far from help they were. Years of working in the ER allowed him to outwardly portray total calm in situations of stress. "I'm going to have to leave you for a few minutes I won't go far. Just try to keep breathing slowly and evenly OK." There was no response. Jesse tried again, he had to know that Steve was aware of what was happening, confusion and panic would only increase the risk of shock, not to mention the effect it would have on his breathing. "Steve, did you hear me buddy, I'm not going far."  
  
Steve opened his eyes briefly and made eye contact, he nodded slightly, "I'll be OK," he managed to get out before another cough precluded further speech.  
  
Satisfied Jesse stood, intent on heading back to the cabin to see what he could find. For a moment the world around him seemed to shift violently and bright sparks exploded in his vision. He swayed slightly, only just managing to keep his feet and waited for the dizziness to subside. If he had been in any doubt about how Steve had managed to ignore his injuries and keep going, he realised now that it was his concern for his friends that had allowed him to do so, he was, after all, doing the same.  
  
For the first time since his kidnapping, Jesse spared a moment to consider his own condition. His arm was still on fire and now he came to think about it he had been avoiding using it as much as possible. He examined it, first the blood soaked bandage and then the line of fresh blood that ran down and pooled around the rope that still dug into his wrist, soaking down to the loose end. He tried to estimate just how much blood he had lost in the last half hour.  
  
He had been fortunate that Peter had not tied his wrists together again properly and he had been able to slip out of the rope. He wasn't sure whether that had been deliberate, another attempt to help him, or a mistake because of Byron's unexpected return, whatever, he was grateful for it.  
  
Taking a deep breath he headed for the cabin with a renewed sense of urgency, with the blood loss he wasn't sure how long he would be able to keep going and if he collapsed before he could get them help. He refused to continue that line of thought.  
  
Reaching the entrance, he hesitated slightly before entering. It wasn't the spectre of death that made him pause, that was something he dealt with all too regularly, it was the fact that he had to face Byron again. Irrational he knew since the man was dead, but he couldn't shake the echoes of fear and terror from being held at knifepoint and the feeling of helplessness he had had the last time he had entered the cabin. He shivered as a cold ice ran down his spine at the memory.  
  
He shook his head to clear it as he stepped over the threshold and looked back towards Steve. He had always admired his friend's strength of character and tenacity but he had new levels of respect and gratitude, knowing how traumatised Steve had been by Byron, by the events in the clinic, and yet he had walked in to face him, had done that to save his life. Jesse could only guess what strength of will that had taken.  
  
He stared at his friend, momentarily overcome by the strength of emotion that he felt, and then the urgency of the situation struck him once more, and he turned his attention back to the interior of the cabin.  
  
He started by searching the room, dropping the blankets and water bottle that he found by the door before turning to the far less pleasant task of searching the bodies. As he gazed down at Peter he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the man who seemed to be little more than a victim himself. He knelt down and gently closed his eyes.  
  
The search resulted in nothing but a set of keys. He examined them with a brief twinge of hope, there was obviously some sort of vehicle, presumably the one they had used to get here, maybe he could find it, use it to get both himself and Steve to safety. Then he realised that he had not seen anything parked near and he did not know which direction to head into the dense forest that surrounded the cabin to find it. He pushed himself slowly back to standing, wary of his own weakened condition and, frustrated, dropped the keys to the ground.  
  
Taking a deep breath he moved over to Byron's corpse. As he reached it he subconsciously touched his hand to the wound on his throat. He was grateful that Byron's eyes were closed, wasn't sure that he could have taken them staring up at him. He shivered again, before stealing himself to bend and search the body. He found the cell phone, again the twinge of hope, replaced quickly by the growing frustration as he realised there was no signal. He dropped it down and continued his search.  
  
The only other thing of use was the knife in the pouch on his belt, again there was a slight hesitation before Jesse could bring himself to touch it, his own dried blood still clung to the edge of the blade.  
  
He managed to make it back out into the sunshine and place his findings down, before the overwhelming nausea engendered by the strong mix of emotion and emotional release took over, searching Byron's corpse had been the last straw, and he lost the contents of his stomach, leaning heavily against the cabin wall.  
  
He made his way slightly shakily back to Steve, not realising until he was almost there that Steve was watching him.  
  
Jesse only half forced a smile as he knelt beside him, he was genuinely relieved that his friend was alert. "Hey, how do you feel?" he asked.  
  
Steve looked at him. "If you have to ask me that I want another doctor."  
  
Jesse made a show of looking round, "Sorry it looks like I'm the only one available at the moment. So I guess you're stuck with me."  
  
Steve smiled, "Well, I feel about as bad as you look," he said, coughing slightly, "and trust me that's awful."  
  
"Then that makes two of us 'cos you don't look so hot yourself," Jesse replied.  
  
"I just love your bedside manner," Steve said sardonically, using their usual light banter to cover his fears.  
  
They each studied the other with concern, noting new and old injuries, each only to aware of the emotional traumas of the morning and the probable impact on the other. It was that continuing sense of concern that was keeping both of them going.  
  
Jesse covered Steve with a blanket and checked his pulse once more as he continued to speak. "Oh, you only get bedside manner when you're in an actual bed," he said, hiding the frown that would have been his reaction to Steve's irregular pulse rate had his friend not been watching him. "Out here all you get is sarcasm and brutal honesty."  
  
"Something to look forward to then." Steve said, pausing before adding. "I don't remember that being a part of the Hippocratic oath."  
  
"Oh it's there," Jesse said feigning a serious tone. "It's just in Latin, so you philistines don't understand it." There was the briefest of pauses whilst they shared the humour in the comments before Jesse continued "Here drink some of this." he held the water bottle up for his friend to drink. He, like Steve, was using the banter to give him a sense of normalcy.  
  
Steve drank the water gratefully, his throat felt like someone had been shredding it with sharp blades and his mouth was dry, each sip provided some temporary relief. After several sips, he pushed the bottle back towards his friend. "Here, you look like you need this as much as I do."  
  
For a moment the two made eye contact again each acknowledging and sharing the emotion held there, emotions that they could not at the moment, put into words, if ever. Jesse broke it by nodding slightly then drinking some of the water himself.  
  
Steve tried to look around, focussing his mind on the practical. "What now?" he asked, knowing that they couldn't stay where they were.  
  
"Well first, I need to soak those bandages on your arm," Jesse said. It wasn't the best of options but he had to reduce the fluid Steve was losing from the burns. "Then I guess we see about hiking out of here."  
  
Steve shook his head. "You go without me you've got a much better chance."  
  
Jesse turned to get the other blanket so that he could rest Steve's arm on it. "Oh no I'm not leaving you here. You're coming.." Jesse's voice trailed off as he turned back round and saw Steve's head drop back his eyes closed. "Steve," he said urgently, "Steve, come on buddy stay with me.."  
  
There was no response so Jesse rapidly moved to drop Steve's head down to the floor and raise his legs. He then carefully poured water onto the bandage covering the burn and checked Steve's pulse, cursing once again the fact that he did not have the necessary equipment to save his friend. It was so unfair, none of Steve's injuries should be life threatening but, in his already weakened condition, shock due to dehydration could still kill him.  
  
"Come on," he said, quietly, "Don't do this to me, You can't die, I haven't had chance to thank you for saving my life." His voice rose slightly in frustration, "Dammit Steve you can't die."  
  
Jesse once again considered his options, he needed to get help, there was nothing more that he could do for Steve, even if he stayed. He pushed himself to his feet, maybe he could get back to Amanda. This time the accompanying dizziness was too much, he dropped back down to his knees, his own falling blood pressure was taking it's toll. The frustration now was overwhelming, tears formed in his eyes as he looked at his friend. "I'm sorry Steve," he said quietly.  
  
--  
  
Jesse was already lying in a Stokes stretcher by the time his fuzzy senses acknowledged the change. He looked up to see two paramedics, checking him over, recognised the familiar dialogue associated with checking and treating a patient and realised that he was the patient in question. There was an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose and he could feel as they placed the IV line into the back of his hand. He looked around trying to see what had happened to Steve and instead spotted another familiar face, Detective Nathan Turner.  
  
He pulled the mask from his face, ignoring the protests from the paramedics. "Nathan," he called out with all of the strength that he could muster.  
  
Nathan moved over to him, "Hey Jess, take it easy."  
  
"Steve," he asked, "Mark, how are they?" He could ask Nathan the question that he could not ask Steve, was his father alive.  
  
"Steve's stable and so was Mark last time I heard. A medivac chopper shipped him back to Community General. It's on its way back to pick you two up."  
  
So Steve had managed to get Mark out of the building. "Amanda?" Jesse asked.  
  
"Went with Mark, she's fine, she's just worried sick about the rest of you."  
  
Knowing the condition of his friends Jesse could relax, he dropped his head back allowing the oxygen mask to be replaced as he said a silent prayer of thanks that they had all made it this far.  
  
--  
  
Part 29 Epilogue  
  
Steve sat once again in the chair next to his father's bed, nurses and doctors alike had tried and failed to get him to rest. Mark was in ICU and there was no way that Steve was going to stay in a different room, let alone on a different floor of the hospital until he knew that his father was going to be all right.  
  
He had spent the first twelve hours of his stay sedated as Mark was now, whilst pure oxygen was fed to his damaged lungs and his blood pressure stabalised. His arm rested across his chest, heavily bandaged but too sensitive for a sling.  
  
Amanda had been to reassure him that both Jesse and his father were doing fine. Jesse had had to have fairly extensive surgery on his arm to repair the second set of torn stitches and he had needed a further five stitches to the wound on his neck. Mark was holding his own but, given the amount of smoke he had inhaled, they needed to keep an eye on him as the full extent of any damage may not become apparent for up to twenty four hours. She had promised to keep him updated on Mark's condition and Steve had tolerated the separation for as long as he felt too weak to do anything about it, but as his strength returned he had insisted on going to Mark's side.  
  
His emotions were a mess, with everything that had happened in the last week it was difficult to know where to start to unravel the tangle of thoughts and feelings that was tying his insides in knots, confused patches of images and emotions and stray memories, crowded for his attention in a continual barrage. He needed a way to ground himself, to find some sort of peace and he knew that he could only do that by seeing his father, by talking to him.  
  
Much of what had happened that morning was still hazy but one memory was clear, his last view of his father's blackened face, of leaving him close to death. That image now invoked feelings that defied logic and rationality, he felt guilty for leaving him, for walking away, for almost losing him. Ignoring the powerful motives that there had been at the time for going after Byron, after Jesse, he felt like he had deserted his father and nothing short of seeing him and explaining to him would allay that guilt.  
  
When Dr. Taylor had come to do his evening checks, the battle lines had thus been drawn. Steve needed to be at his father's side and was prepared to go to any lengths to accomplish that. Faced with the options of sedating Steve against his wishes or letting him go sit with his father, Bill Taylor acquiesced to the request, physically Steve's condition had stabilised and if emotionally he needed to be at his father's side, then, given the terrible trauma of the last week, Bill was prepared to bend the rules a little if it would help.  
  
So Steve sat with his hand resting on his father's watching him sleep. His father's face had been cleaned but there were still traces of black in his silver grey hair, the oxygen mask hid half of his face and Steve was disconcerted by the edge of frailty in his father's normally robust appearance, but at least the warmth of his skin and the regular beeps from the heart monitor, continued to reassure him that his father was still with him.  
  
Just the physical contact was enough to anchor Steve in reality and for the first time that day his spirit calmed and he sat, eyes defocused, able to begin to order his thoughts.  
  
"Steve?" The questioning voice came from the bed, he looked up and smiled at his father's alert expression, one hand held the oxygen mask from his face. "What happened? Why.?"  
  
Steve stood and gently replaced the mask. "It's all right," he said soothingly, responding to his father's anxious tone. "Everything's OK, just rest," he pressed the call button, "Dr. Taylor asked me to page him when you woke up, as soon as he's checked you over I'll explain everything."  
  
Mark nodded and rested his head back, using the time to try to remember what had happened that had resulted in him lying a hospital bed, but the last thing he could remember was sharing breakfast with Steve Jesse and Amanda, anything beyond that was just flashes of images. Nothing that helped him with the events that had led back to Community General.  
  
He looked at his son critically, attempting to appraise his condition. He did not like the look of the bandaged arm, and further lines of strain around his son's face were a testament to additional trauma. He desperately wanted to ask questions but recognised the wisdom of Steve's words.  
  
Dr. Taylor took fifteen minutes checking Mark thoroughly. His breathing had recovered enough for him to manage without the mask, so it was removed and, although Bill Taylor was still worried about possible pneumonia, he was pleased with Mark's recovery so far.  
  
Once he had gone Steve began his description of the morning's events. He did his best to keep his account factual, but the strong undercurrent of emotion was obviously there and Mark could not help but empathise with how his son must have felt. Without realising it he gripped his son's hand from the moment Steve described the phone call from Byron, able to imagine all too well what his son must have gone through in the time taken for his journey to the burning house.  
  
Steve downplayed as much as he could the danger he faced when he went in to the building but Mark wasn't fooled. He knew his son, and what Steve didn't tell him told him much more than what he did. He found himself horrified at the additional emotional turmoil that his son had had to endure and recognised the mix of emotion that had forced him on to go after Jesse. He made a mental note to ask Amanda just how far Steve had pushed himself.  
  
Steve got through the entire tail without faltering. His father needed to know what had happened and putting it into words was helping him to sort it in his own mind. The experience, holding on to his father's hand, feeling the firm reassuring grip, was having a cathartic effect. With each sentence he felt, better, safer.  
  
Then he reached the point where he had pulled the trigger on Byron and his mind blanked. His speech faltered. "Byron turned his gun on Jesse. so I pulled mine. and. and." He stopped speaking, his eyes staring at a point on the bed.  
  
Mark was about to say something when the silence was interrupted by a voice from the doorway. "According to Jesse you pulled the trigger stopping Byron in his tracks and saving his life."  
  
Both men turned their gaze to Amanda who had clearly been listening. Neither of them knew how long she had been there. She moved into the room continuing to speak as she did so. "The first shot killed him, I've just got back with the autopsy report."  
  
Steve looked up at her blankly for a moment whilst his senses dealt with the frightening gap in his memory. "I'm sorry," he said, watching as she made her way to sit on the end of the bed. "I. don't. I can't remember."  
  
Mark and Amanda exchanged worried glances as Steve seemed momentarily lost  
  
He could only recall pulling the trigger the first time and the gap in his memory scared him. "How many.." he faltered, the disjointed memory wouldn't come. "I fired but I don't remember.. how many times did I hit him," he finally managed.  
  
"Three," Amanda replied, studying his expression, not sure how best to help him with what was obviously another difficult memory but then she'd been struggling with that all week. "They all hit through the heart."  
  
Steve squinted in concentration, he couldn't remember aiming or firing but he vaguely recalled Jesse stopping him from squeezing the trigger on the empty gun. He looked up at her. "I emptied my gun," he said quietly.  
  
She nodded. "The last three bullets hit the wall after Byron fell."  
  
Steve nodded and looked back down at the bed.  
  
Mark had watched the exchange silently, appreciating that this had been the final act in a drama that had almost cost all of them their lives and Steve his sanity. The overwhelming emotions that his son must have felt in the confrontation had clearly taken their toll. "Steve?" He said quietly.  
  
Steve looked up meeting his father's concerned gaze. "I'm fine dad."  
  
"Really?" Mark asked skeptically.  
  
"No," Steve said, with a wry smile, "but now that the man responsible for all of this is dead and all of you are safe again, I'll get there."  
  
--  
  
"Hurry up," Jesse said, "It's about to start." His tone was that of an excited child rather than a grown man, and his enthusiasm, as usual, made the others smile.  
  
"OK Jess, take it easy before you burst those stitches again," Amanda said teasingly, "Bill Taylor would not be impressed if you damaged his hard work for a third time."  
  
Jesse looked innocently up at her, "Hey none of that was my fault, besides he's already had his revenge. He told nurse Peters that it was me who 'borrowed' her birthday cake." He gave a slight grimace. "I'm in for real trouble when I get back to work, no less than twelve of the nursing staff popped in to see me before I was discharged just to let me know that they knew."  
  
Mark smiled and moved to sit on the couch next to Jesse. "Well it serves you right for attempting blackmail."  
  
"Blackmail?" Amanda asked looking from Mark to Jesse.  
  
Jesse looked a little sheepish as Mark went on to explain. "He threatened to tell the nurses Bill did it if he didn't tell him what happened in the accident."  
  
Amanda looked accusingly at him. "Jesse Travis! And I bet it was you all along wasn't it?"  
  
Jesse nodded  
  
"Well you deserve everything that's coming to you, blackmail indeed." Amanda continued with mock disapproval. Mark could tell she wasn't serious, there was a familiar twinkle in her eye.  
  
"Hey, I had a concussion at the time," Jesse said trying to defend himself. "And I.." he began but the opening titles of the news report on the TV distracted him. "This'll have to wait it's coming on." Jesse grabbed himself a handful of popcorn and wriggled back into his seat trying to find a comfortable position.  
  
The other three exchanged glances and settled back themselves. It was doubtful that any of them would be watching the report at all, if it hadn't been for Jesse's excited interest.  
  
It was just over a week since the three of them had been discharged from the hospital, they were staying in a rented house on the beach not far from the Beach house, where structural repairs were already underway. Bill Taylor had kept them all in for observation for a week on the grounds that at least they wouldn't get injured any more whilst they were there, although he was a little skeptical about even that, and, remarkably, none of the three of them had complained. They all seemed more than happy to remain in the confines of Community General and spent much of the time talking to each other.  
  
It was a testament to the trauma they had shared that they did not feel the normally pressing need to return to their respective positions, each needing the time to come to terms with their own emotional state.  
  
Nathan had kept them updated on the corruption case and Steve had been interviewed by IA about what he could remember of the shooting of Byron Cooper, but with Jesse's statement that had just been a formality. Nathan also had to inform them of the promise that he had had to make in order to secure the news helicopter, that had allowed him to find first Mark and Amanda, and then Steve and Jesse. He had had to promise Kate McHale an exclusive interview with Steve in return for her help.  
  
No one was in any doubt that if he hadn't managed to gain access to the helicopter then Mark and Steve probably would not have survived. Jesse's condition had also been deteriorating and there was no telling what would have happened in the two hours it would have taken Nathan to get there by car or in the time it would have taken for Amanda to get help.  
  
Steve therefore knew that he owed the reporter and so, reluctantly, agreed to make good on Nathan's promise. Nathan, for his part, had offered to take Steve's place if he didn't feel up to it, but, after some negotiation, it was agreed that Steve and Mark would do the interview together as soon as Steve was released from the hospital, provided that they had editorial input. They were both still understandably wary of the press .  
  
Thus the interview had been taped four days earlier and now it was being broadcast as part of a special report. Although they had seen the rough cuts both Sloan men had a certain curiosity as to how the finished article would look. They were confident that it should finally put to rest any lingering negative publicity associated with Steve. In fact Steve had been slightly embarrassed as the reporter had gone out of her way to make everything he had done seem heroic.  
  
He had found the interview process quite a test, but having Mark there to field the more difficult questions had helped and, once it was all over, he had felt much better. Having the opportunity to put forward his own side of the story, after all of the negative things that had been said about him, had undoubtedly helped with the healing process.  
  
Still it was Jesse who had wanted to make the first screening of the interview into a special occasion, insisting that they watch it together. So they sat watching as the opening credits drew to a close and the camera zoomed in on the attractive young reporter.  
  
"Good evening and welcome to this special edition of News Roundup. Over the past three weeks the entire country has been gripped by a saga that began with a massacre in a Malibu clinic and unfolded into a tale of murder and corruption that has rocked the very foundations of the justice system here in Los Angeles. In a story that is more reminiscent of the television series '24' than it is of real life, one man had to endure attacks on his family, friends and home as well as himself whilst attempting to uncover a major corruption. All of the events that you are about to hear about unfolded in the course of just one week. Our hero in this tale is one Lieutenant Steven Sloan of the LAPD. We are privileged to be joined tonight for an exclusive interview about their involvement in this extraordinary story by Lieutenant Sloan and his father Dr. Mark Sloan, who was also instrumental in helping to bring those involved to justice, Welcome gentlemen."  
  
The camera cut to bring all three of them into shot and Mark and Steve both acknowledged the greeting with a nod.  
  
The camera then cut back to Kate as she framed her first question. "Lieutenant if I could first ask you about the tragic events."  
  
Steve stood and picked up the half empty bowl from the table. "I'll just get some more pop-corn," he said heading for the kitchen.  
  
As he left the room the remaining three friends forgot the television for a moment as they exchanged, puzzled and slightly worried looks. Steve had shown no overt signs of emotional reaction to the trauma since his inability to describe Byron's shooting at the hospital almost two weeks ago and, although none of them were naïve enough to believe that he had really recovered yet, this reaction to the interview was a little worrying.  
  
Jesse mentally kicked himself, both Mark and Steve had seemed pleased with how the interview had gone and were quite positive about it's proposed screening and Jesse had become caught up in the idea of seeing his friends on TV. It hadn't occurred to him that Steve would have any problems with it, things had really seemed like they were getting back to normal, and it was hard to see Steve as anything but strong, so Jesse couldn't help feeling guilty, he had obviously missed some signs somewhere.  
  
Mark waited a couple of minutes before getting up and following.  
  
Steve was standing at the sink a glass of water in his hand, staring ahead at the floor. Mark avoiding asking the obvious question with the equally obvious answer. 'Are you all right?' seemed redundant.  
  
Steve looked up and smiled across at his father. "I wondered how long it would take you."  
  
Mark smiled back, but the concern remained in his eyes. "Still being a little over protective Huh?"  
  
Steve shook his head, the strong affection he felt for his father was only reinforced by such cautious concern for his well-being. He looked into the bottom of the water glass and let out a small sigh. "I guess I just have a little trouble hearing myself being described as a hero," he said, attempting to explain his reaction. He looked up again. "All those people still died, it doesn't feel terribly heroic."  
  
Mark nodded, understanding the mix of emotions that his son was slowly coming to terms with. "You know that you did everything you could."  
  
Steve thought for a moment, staring into the glass once more. "Rationally yes. emotionally.. I'll get there."  
  
Mark looked back through the doorway before returning his gaze to his son. "And there are two people here whose lives you did save."  
  
Steve looked up into his father's eyes before glancing across at the doorway. Briefly reminded of the intense emotions of almost losing his father and his best friend. Again, rationally he knew that he had saved them both, that some would view his actions as heroic, but emotionally he had simply done what had to be done, nothing more and nothing less. How could that be considered heroic?  
  
As if reading his son's thoughts Mark answered the question for him. "You faced your fears and overcame them. Given the same circumstances most people couldn't have done what you did, most of us aren't that brave."  
  
Steve met his father's gaze, the emotional bond allowing him to accept the truth of his words, for a moment the atmosphere in the room was charged with emotion. Steve nodded again before breaking the mood. He picked up the jumbo sized bag of popcorn. "I'd better get this back out there," he said, lightening his tone. "Before Jess claims I'm starving him to death again."  
  
Mark allowed himself a small smile, he knew this would be the first of many such minor crises over the coming months, as different things would trigger memories and reactions but for the moment this one seemed to be over.  
  
Steve finished pouring and put the bag back down on the table. "You know, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, picking up the bowl and heading for the door. "How come you always look so much more relaxed in front of a camera than I do? I mean I always get so nervous like that dating show I was on and when I did that stint as a stunt man."  
  
"Well you know," Mark said pausing by the doorway. "The host of that TV quiz show said I was a natural." He scrunched his nose up in characteristic fashion. "But I put it down to experience."  
  
The two of them continued talking as they made their way back into the lounge.  
  
--  
  
Amanda, Mark and Jesse stood on the deck of the newly refurbished beach house and watched Steve stand at the water's edge staring out to sea.  
  
"How long's he been out there," Amanda asked. She had only just arrived having waited until she'd put CJ and Dion to bed before making her way over for supper.  
  
"Since we arrived back from court," Mark said.  
  
The closing day of the corruption and murder trial had seen David Thorsen given the death penalty for his part in the massacre at the clinic and the subsequent murders of two of the survivors. Sandra Gray had escaped the death penalty herself by turning states evidence but had still received a life sentence without the possibility of parole, and Jason Walters and the other police officers and court officials involved had been given sentences between five and twenty years.  
  
Steve had been quiet on the drive back from the court and had gone 'for a walk' the second they arrived back, but his walk had only taken him as far as the water's edge.  
  
It was two and a half months since the whole nightmare had begun and physically all three men had recovered. Mark was already back at work, with Jesse due to start back, now that the muscles in his arm had recovered enough for him to have the fine control needed for surgery. Steve was still under Dr. Carter's care, but she seemed confident that he would be fit to go back to work in the near future. He had even started to get in some practice at the shooting range, a good sign that he truly had conquered his fears, but clearly the trial had stirred up old memories. Mark was just glad that the wheels of justice had ground particularly swiftly on this one. Helped along by a considerable amount of political pressure in a damage limitation exercise designed to restore people's confidence in the justice system.  
  
So it was that Jesse found himself walking out to talk to Steve once again, as he had done a couple of months earlier. He stopped as he had before, a few feet away.  
  
"Did my dad send you?" Steve asked, without turning.  
  
"Sort of," Jesse answered, much more relaxed and confident than he had been the last time this scene had played out. "It's not that late, or cold," he said paraphrasing what he had said the last time, "and it's a long time since you got out of the hospital," he paused briefly, "But we're all still kinda worried about you."  
  
Steve turned to look at him. "I'm OK," he said.  
  
Jesse did not take it as a dismissal this time. They both looked out at the ocean.  
  
"When it's quiet like this," Steve said, his tone soft, " I can sometimes still hear the screams." He turned to look at his friend, Jesse met his gaze. "But they are fading." He turned to look at the ocean again, "I guess it's something I'll always carry with me, but at least I know they got justice."  
  
The two men stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Steve spoke again. "Come on let's head back so dad can stop pretending that he's not watching me."  
  
Jesse grinned at him, "Oh trust me he stopped that about an hour ago, since then he's been blatantly checking every few minutes."  
  
Steve nodded and grinned back. "Hope that hasn't spoilt his cooking then because I'm starving."  
  
The two of them headed back in the early evening sunshine to christen the new deck with what promised to be the first of many new dinner parties.  
  
--  
  
Jesse climbed out of the hospital shower, wrapped the towel around his waist and stretched. It had been his first full day back at work and he was tired but glad to be back. He padded into the locker room and stopped dead in his tracks, not willing to believe what he saw. He checked round every single locker and was unhappy but not exactly surprised to find that they had all been emptied of their contents. He looked down at the female nurses outfit that had been laid out on the bench and read the attached note. 'Revenge is Sweet,' was all it said.  
  
He had known that Nurse Peters was going to get him back for the birthday cake thing, he just hadn't expected it this soon on his return. He looked down at the towel he was wearing and then at the nurses outfit and then back at the towel, which somehow seemed smaller than when he had climbed out of the shower. He knew that he had no choice but to walk through the corridors of the hospital in one or the other, until he could find himself a set of scrubs or get to Mark's office.  
  
He considered his options and let out a long sigh, before picking up the top item and trying to figure out which way round he was supposed to put women's pants.  
  
The end  
  
--  
  
Author's end note:- Just hope you enjoyed reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it- Please let me know and thanks again for your patience and support. Judith. 


End file.
